


Stigmata Tomato

by BellaFlan



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst and Humor, Comedy, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaFlan/pseuds/BellaFlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="http://s1229.photobucket.com/albums/ee468/BellaFlan/?action=view&current=stigmata-tomato.gif"></a>
</p>
<img/><p><br/>Alert the Darwin Awards! Bella Swan, depressed and demented, nearly dies trying to kill herself & is shipped to Forks WA. Watch her update her facebook status and fall in love. WARNING: MA, very dark comedy. OOC w/ nod to canon , E/B some Jake , AH</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Suicide is Painless

**Author's Note:**

> No Copyright infringement intended. This is a story about surviving abuse with a sense of humour. Canadian spelling.

Chapter one: Suicide is Painless

Facebook status: Killing myself.

The bathwater had cooled to tepid, but still, I held a steak knife to the bluish flesh of my wrist without any real follow-through. The serrated edge was duller than I expected. Shit, this was stupid. Who was I kidding? It's not like I had the stomach to slice through my skin, not when I couldn't even apply enough pressure to tear through the first dead layer. Also, what if I didn't kill myself all-the-way dead and contracted Tetanus or something?

Do not misunderstand my intentions; I totally intended to die. I mean, I thought I did, but there was no way I could butcher myself like a stuck pig. Perhaps I should explain myself...

To state the obvious: I was fucking depressed. It was beyond anything I could articulate on my sad little blog (ironically called "Sylvia Plath is Dead," but I digress). I was shrouded in a hackneyed darkness of epic proportions that I couldn't see any logical way out of. Intellectually, I understood that I was young, only eighteen, and likely my perspective would change given enough time and opportunity, but who the fuck took the time to check in with the left side of the brain when contemplating offing oneself?

So after some well thought out tweeting with my childhood friend, Jake, I made a twitter poll list entitled "Best Ways for Bella Swan to End her Pathetic Existence." In hindsight, not exactly the smartest plan, but I loved making lists. Taking random information and formulating a workable plan out of it was like mapping the stars; finding order in the seemingly chaotic universe. The Devil is not, in fact, in the details; God is.

Faced with the bitter reality that my plan didn't work, I forced myself to admit defeat. My fingers were prunes, and my fucking wrists were sore. Man, I should have known I'd fail. Why did I bother pulling a towel out of the linen closet if I was supposed to bleed out in the tub? Renee would have been pissed if I stained the good Ralph Lauren towels. Actually, that in itself made it almost worth shedding a few drops of blood onto the white terry cloth.

The water sloshed over the side of the tub as I heaved my body out. It didn't matter that I soaked the floor. It didn't matter that mould would now grow under the shaggy bathmat, and everyone would inhale spores and die of the lethal biohazard that water and natural fibres breed. _Apathy is part of the human condition._ It was a cold comfort that maybe I would die and no one would care.

That's when I slipped and cracked my head open on the faucet. Hm, best laid plans, and all that...

My last thought before my vision darkened was: _I'm one of those assholes they write about in chain emails. I'm a Darwin Award recipient._

-({})-

"Bells." Charlie looked old. Did I do that to him?

"Hey, Charlie." I did my best to smile, allowing him to relieve me of my bags.

"Is that it?"

"Nah, Mom's shipping the rest."

He nodded and pulled my backpack onto his shoulder, towing my luggage behind him.

SeaTac was a zoo. I huddled against father's side before I realized I was dangerously close to actually touching him. He stiffened as my sweater brushed his shirt.

"A lot's changed since you last visited," he explained, feigning excitement.

"Oh yeah?"

"We, er, have a Wal-mart..."

"Forks has a Wal-mart?"

"Nah, Port Angeles does."

"Awesome. Now I know where to go to buy ammo for my rifle." _You know, to shoot myself in the head with._

"You thinking of hunting?" Dear Lord, his eyes actually lit up at the prospect.

"No, Charlie. Maybe just fishing, okay?"

He nodded and loaded my bags into the back of an old Chrysler. "We're going fishing tomorrow. I know Jacob would love to see you."

"Sounds good, Dad."

"Need to stop in at Newton's for some new lures. Do you mind, Bells?"

"It's fine." I yawned. Really, it wasn't fine at all. I just wanted to go home, and by 'home,' I did _not_ mean my father's house. Not for the first time, I wished my mother wasn't such a weak piece of shit. Renee needed to be handled, and I was tired of being the one to do it. She was Phil's problem now.

Fuck, Renee's guilt trip was on an infinite loop in my head.

_"Bella? Bella? You scared me! How could you do this to us?"_

_"I slipped, Mom. It was just an accident."_

Only I could manage to slip and fall onto a dull knife, effectively slicing through my arm. Of course, my drama-queen of a mother refused to listen to the voice of reason. It was just an accident. What kind of idiot would commit suicide by both cutting her arm open and giving herself a concussion?

"It'll just take a couple of minutes, Bells." Charlie wrenched the gearshift into park and cut the engine, but the truck still shuddered like it was suffering from some sort of automotive palsy. "Takes her a while to calm down. Lemme help you out of the car. Billy said the door sticks a little."

"What's with the crap-mobile? What's wrong with the cruiser?"

"Well, I was going to wait but, it's a gift... for you."

"Me? You're giving me this piece of shit? Um, thanks?" Did I look like a hillbilly? Shit, I was so grateful to get out of the pile of rust, I suddenly had a greater appreciation for the phrase, 'get the fuck out of Dodge.'

"I just want to see you smile again, Bells. I figured you'd want your own car." Well, fuck. That was sweet.

"Yeah, Dad. It's great..." My tongue tripped over the last word as something shiny in the parking lot caught my attention. A silver Volvo glared haughtily at my crap-heap, and instantly, I was ashamed. "Woah... fancy." Even fancier still was the boy who emerged from the vehicle, his hair arranged on his head like he had been fucking all afternoon and then he sprayed it in place during the post-coital afterglow. He ran his hand through his hair a few times and dropped his keys into his front pocket, pulling the jeans down slightly in the process. I became aware of drool forming on my chin. Shit, he was better than anything my wet dreams could ever conjure up, and I suddenly regretted not packing my dildo in my carry-on. He strutted into the sporting goods store, moving with an almost feline grace.

He was so beautiful that he practically sparkled.

"Coming, Bella?"

"Almost," I gasped, before remembering that it was my father speaking so, _ew_. "I mean, yeah, I'm... following."

Charlie shot me a bewildered look and disappeared inside the store while I pondered why beautiful creatures like this boy had to be put on the earth to torment the morbidly plain like myself. Chewing on my fingers like an asshole, I paced a path in front of the entrance and tried to pull up Tweetdeck on my iPhone but the _Fail Whale_ was beached on my screen. "Mother shitter!" I cursed and walked into the front door as it swung open.

"Holy fuck, are you okay?" a chorus of Angels sang from somewhere above me... well, not really, but the voice was so beautiful it was practically inhuman. I didn't need to look up, it was plainly clear the owner of said voice was Mr. Sex-on-a-stick himself. He offered me a hand, and I stared at the beautiful fist from my spot on the ground, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with the appendage. "May I help you up?"

"I'm fine," I said, except my nose was totally bleeding.

"Shit, your nose. Come to my car, okay?" he pleaded, but I didn't move. "I'm not a psycho; you're perfectly safe with me, I swear." Yeah, that _so_ wasn't true. I was obviously a danger to myself and others.

"I'm fine," I repeated. He ignored me and removed his shirt, pressing it up to my nose.

"Tilt your head back."

"I'm so sorry!" I stammered.

"Are you apologizing for bleeding?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

His eyes narrowed, but he smiled. "You're Isabella Swan, right?"

"Bella... but, yeah." I coughed up a little blood as girlishly as I could manage.

"I'm Edward Cullen." He balled up the shirt and turned it around, applying pressure with the clean side. "I'm calling my dad, okay? He'll come see you."

"We only just met," I protested like a retread.

Edward smirked. "He's a doctor.

"Right." _Someone shut me up!_ "Actually, I'm fine. Really." I pulled the shirt away from my face and so help me, Edward tilted my head back and peered up my nostril.

"I think the bleeding stopped."

"Excellent. Do you want your shirt back?"

"You can go ahead and keep that."

I sneezed a blood clot onto his shoe. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay, Bella. I'm going to let your father know what happened, okay? I'll be right back."

"Ah-huh," I nodded.

"Don't go anywhere." For some reason he looked incredulous.

"I won't." _See, asshole?_ I cursed at myself, _This is why you can't have nice things_. Could I have fucked up a first impression any worse? Well, probably...

He disappeared inside the store, and I stared sadly at his blood-stained shirt. It had obviously been expensive. Now it couldn't even be used as a rag.

Somehow everything I touched turned to shit.

There was no way I could face Edward again. Suddenly overtaken by my intrinsic flight instinct, I fucking bolted as if I was being chased by some demon other than my own cowardice.


	2. Mixed Smoke Signals

Facebook Status: Gone Fishin'

This is why fishing is just a crap idea: it requires getting up at the ass crack of dawn.

Charlie had insisted on driving the wretched truck. It coughed and sputtered and horked up oil, reminding me of my sick old grandmother's smoke-addled breathing when she was near the end of the road. Gramma Swan died from emphysema last year, and it was a relief. Fuck, not that I wished her dead or anything—it's just that it seemed like she was always dying from something or another; it was nice to no longer be at the edge of my seat waiting for her to finally kick the proverbial bucket, since she had been taking half-assed swipes at it my entire life.

Shit or get off the pot or whatever.

I caught sight of my hollowed out face in the rearview. Like Gramma Swan, I too was slowly disintegrating.

"You gonna be quiet the whole afternoon?"

"Huh?" I pulled one of my earbuds out.

"I was asking you a question, Bells."

"Sorry. What was the question?"

"Will you be nice to Jake? He's really excited to see you."

"C'mon, Dad! Don't start that shit again. If you want Billy to be part of your family, you're going to have to nut up and marry him yourself!"

"He'd treat you real nice, Bells," Charlie argued, unfazed.

"He's way too young."

"He's only a year younger than you!"

Fuck, men were stupid. "That's like dog years where boys are concerned," I explained, cringing as we pulled into the fishing village of La Push proper. "Technically, he's at least seven years my junior. He's just a kid." It had been about four years since I'd seen him in the flesh, but Jake and I just weren't like that.

"That's hardly fair. The last few years haven't been easy since the twins went away to college. Jake takes care of Billy, goes to school, and works part time. That's a lot of responsibility for a kid his age."

I rearranged my expression into what I hoped was a look of incredulity. "What's with the whole Yenta act? I'm no good for any boy right now. I've just got no interest in hooking up," I added, much to Charlie's chagrin. Of course, the statement was a blatant lie. I had every interest in the world of hooking up with Mr. Sex-hair, but since my first impression consisted of blowing a snot clot onto his shoe and bolting, chances were I wasn't going to be seducing him anytime soon.

"I just want you to be better... not sick anymore." Charlie cut the engine and wrenched the parking brake up as he spoke, stuttering over his words. "I just... I don't know how we could have fucked up so bad with you that you'd do that shit to yourself."

"Dad," I said slowly. "I didn't... I mean, yeah, maybe I wanted to, but I couldn't have gone through with it."

"I just don't get it."

Fuck, I really didn't want to have this conversation right now—or at all, for that matter. "Could we not do this? I'm fine." Charlie didn't seem convinced, his eyes following a path along my shirt sleeve to my wrist. Yeah, the telltale scar on my arm did nothing to help persuade him I was well-balanced. Meh, I couldn't be expected to placate him; I mean, I was the one who was off-kilter. Throwing my hands up in surrender, I said rather petulantly, "Look, Charlie: this is me taking my Effexor," and scrambled for my huge-ass bottle of red horse pills.

"I'll get some water from the cooler."

I gave Charlie my patented eye-roll, opened the Tweetdeck app on my phone, and expertly typed away at the screen.

_OMFG jblack180 – save me! We just arrived._

"Don't bother with the water. I got it!"Swallowing the pill dry, I nearly made a joke about my stellar gag reflex but then decided I'd already put my father through enough trauma for one lifetime. Also, I had become distracted by the fact that I couldn't open the car door. _Fucking crap heap!_ The door seemed to have rusted shut on the drive, welding to the frame like a wound that had healed over along the cut, essentially mending the seam. I kicked at it several times until the fucker finally separated from the chassis. My luck did not improve upon exiting. The exact moment I jumped out, a black cloud descended upon me. No, not the depressive kind; the swarmy kind. Mosquitoes attacked what little exposed skin my modest t-shirt revealed. Cursing, I lifted the hem of my tee, revealing large flies under the material. I squealed like an asshole and lifted my shirt higher, shaking terrible, winged creatures out. "What the fuck?"

"The black flies are out," Charlie mused with a smirk. "They seem to really like you."

Excellent. After eighteen years of life, I'd finally achieved some sort of popularity. "Well, tell them to stop," I squeaked, swatting at my stomach.

"Calm down, Bells. I brought Deet. I'll spray you down."

"Give me that!" Forgetting modesty, and the fact that I was wearing a ratty old bra, I tore the shirt from my body and sprayed a mustard cloud of Deet over my torso until I was certain every last fly had flown the coup.

"Nice rack!" a deep, male voice cat-called.

"Thanks," I muttered, feeling every inch of my body blush over with hot shame. Fuck, I didn't want to raise my head. Instead, I glared at my feet and folded my arms over my breasts.

"Bells? Why did you take your shirt off?" Charlie asked from behind the truck.

"Shut the fuck up!" I muttered, squirming. I was fairly certain I was still being ogled by a random weirdo.

"Hey, don't ask her to get dressed on my account." The asshole started guffawing.

"Fuck you!" I cursed, balling my fists into my hips, thus revealing my sad little titties. I opened my mouth to let fly a scathing and witty retort; however, I found myself unable to process thought into language at the sight of said random asshole.

_Holy fucking crow!_

Approaching me, still laughing, was the second hottest man I'd ever seen in my pathetic life (the first hottest was Sex-hair, but faced with the blatant brawn of the warrior in front of me, it was hard to keep score). He took long strides toward me, clearing seemingly ten feet with each one, his low-slung jeans falling lower on his hips with every step and revealing a defined, bronzed 'V' I'd give my left ovary to touch.

Did I mention he was shirtless? Yeah, he totally was. His skin was dark, unmarred by hair or noticeable blemishes, and taut over large, defined muscle. Oh my fuck, I wanted to lick him or hump his leg... maybe both.

"Hey," I managed to whisper.

"Hi," he replied, standing maybe two feet away from me, flashing his white teeth in a blinding smile. Shit, I wished he'd touch me. Well, maybe he was a mind reader or I'd finally cashed in what little cosmic credit I had amassed because suddenly I found myself encased in an enthusiastic embrace. "Fuck, I missed you, old lady," he laughed, lifting me off the ground and burying his face in my hair.

"Huh?"

"C'mon, indulge me, Bells. Give me a little hug?"

"J-Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that you?" Um, did I mention I still had no shirt on? His skin was so hot against my own. I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered, "I've missed you so much," into his neck.

"Fuck, I've missed you too, Bells."

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt calm.

-({})-

"You have a mean left hook for a skinny white girl." Jake's idiot friend, Embry rubbed his jaw where I had struck him.

"Dude, you totally grabbed my ass. That shit is just not okay." I stopped talking to take a pull off the joint Jake offered, but I sputtered and choked as soon as the smoke hit my lungs. "What the fuck is in this?"

His friends laughed their respective asses off at my obvious lack of experience. "It's just weed," Jake smirked. "Don't worry about it, Bells. I shouldn't be getting you high."

"Yeah, man. Get her drunk so I can goose her again."

"Fuck you!" Jacob shoved Embry; however, he was grinning playfully.

"Way to defend my honour, ass monkey." Honestly, I was tired of being the butt of people's jokes. Jumping to my feet, it was my intention to run away from the bonfire and find my father, but Jake grabbed my arm and pulled me into a clumsy embrace.

"Forgive me?" he pleaded while I glowered.

"No."

"Wanna go for a walk?"

"No."

"I'll blow you a super?"

"Well, okay."

The rez boys hooted and hollered as Jake and I departed. Really clever shit too, like, "Do her!"

I waved my middle finger in reply.

"Sorry, Bells. They don't know that we're not like that."

My stomach plummeted to my toes. "Right." What was wrong with me? Why did his comment disappoint me so much? "I mean, that would be pretty stupid if we hooked up. Like incest or something."

"What? No!"

I shook my head and examined my hands. "Well, I mean, we've been friends forever and stuff."

"Do you _really_ think of me like your brother?"

"I dunno. I'm an only child. Maybe before..."

We stopped walking.

"Before?"

"Yeah," I swallowed thickly. "Before you grew up and looked like this," I explained, motioning at him.

"You like the way I look?"

"You're alright, I guess." This was so bloody humiliating. I had no real experience with boys, and my only sexual experience was too disgusting to allow myself to think about.

"Bells... if you like me I'm going to need some sort of signal. You've always made it pretty clear you only wanted to be friends."

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"I'll give you a signal," I said cryptically.

"Oh... okay."

"Blow me a super, Jake."

He turned the joint so the burner sat precariously close to his tongue and hunched down to meet my lips with his. I inhaled cautiously at first and then deeply when I noticed the noxious edge of the smoke was gone now. My head swam, and my ears rang.

"Do it again, but this time, just pass the smoke," I instructed.

He pulled a cloud into his mouth and lowered his head to mine, passing the cloud over my tongue. It burned a trail down my throat, and my nipples hardened at the proximity of his lips. Somewhere between my legs, my dormant pussy stirred to life and started screaming at me to make a move.

"Jake," I wheezed, expelling the smoke from my lungs.

"Yeah?"

"Signal."

"Fuck," he groaned as the realization of my word sunk in. His mouth swiped against mine in a tentative kiss. I parted my lips and ran my tongue over his until I felt his mouth open and the kiss deepen. An embarrassing moan tore through me, and he pulled away, a frown creasing across his forehead.

"You're high."

"You're sexy." I attacked him, wrapping my arms around his neck and forcing him to lift me up his body. My thighs clung to his hips, and I kissed up his neck.

"Fuck," he groaned and rubbed my back. I felt him harden between my thighs, and I moaned again. "I want you so much, Bells."

My lust suddenly transformed into raw panic.

_Want me like what?_

"Fuck me, Bella, I want you," he repeated, bucking into my hips.

"No!" I squirmed and pushed him away with the heel of my palm.

"Wait, Bells. I didn't mean it like that."

"Let go of me!"

"I didn't mean to say 'fuck me' as in I wanted you to... I mean, I do want you to, but not like this."

"No." I wrenched myself away from his kiss and struggled to get back down on the ground.

"Bells? Talk to me, okay? What did I do wrong?" He let go of me and pleaded with his eyes, looking much like a dejected puppy.

"Nothing, okay? It's me, Jake. I'm all kinds of fucked up. I can't just make-out like a normal girl without thinking about some terrible shit."

"Talk to me about it, then."

"No. I'm no good for you, Jake. That kiss was epic dumb of me."

"Wait!"

But I didn't. For the second time in two days, I ran away from a sex-god.

Fate had teased me with the prospect of happiness, and I fell for it, hook, line and sinker.


	3. The Oldest Profession

Facebook Status: Engaging in Buttsecks.

Fuck prostitution, bribery was the oldest profession.

Gmail was taunting me. It was difficult to even think about writing the email I was about to compose, but my bank account had dwindled to a negative, which meant Mafia Joe would be coming to Forks to break my knees pretty soon if I didn't top off my overdraft. Yes, I was being dramatic and whatnot, but it seemed to be what I did best. Phil needed another email from me, one that would be sure to capture his attention.

New Chat: JBlack180 - Bells?

Fuck, I forgot to go "invisible." It was so weird; Jake and I chatted every day without fail, but now that we were in the same state, only twenty miles away from each other, I felt the need to hide. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I changed my status to 'Busy: Engaging in buttsecks.'

JBlack180: Don't be weird

SyliaPsDead: Don't be so anal.

JBlack180: We need to talk.

SyliaPsDead: About what?

JBlack180: About what happened at the beach.

SyliaPsDead: No.

JBlack180: Alright, anything else then. Your silence is deafening.

SyliaPsDead: We're chatting in lame song lyrics now?

JBlack180: James is soooo not lame!

SyliaPsDead: Do you think I should have used lube?

JBlack180: lmao, you mean for the buttsecks ur having?

SyliaPsDead: No. I mean all those times I let my stepfather fuck me.

JBlack180 has logged off

I stared at the screen in utter terror. At first, I felt nothing. Literally. It was like I was astral projecting, and I couldn't connect my mind with my body. I wiggled my toes, trying to stimulate some sort of sensory perception.

It worked. My hands and feet exploded into pins and needles and then went numb entirely. The sensation rose steadily throughout my extremities, until I was certain that my brain had gone numb too, like a tourniquet had been wrapped around my neck, stopping blood flow to my head.

The thought of it made my throat feel tight. I swallowed several times, but it was painful and my breathing was strained, like my airway was narrower than it should have been.

Suddenly, I became very aware that my respiration felt wrong. I sucked in some air, but my lungs didn't feel like they were inflating properly. My breathing quickened, offering barely a minuscule of relieve with each laboured gasp. I repeated the process several times until I was dizzy.

"Charlie," I whimpered, forgetting that he wasn't home.

What was happening to me? I felt like I was going to die.

"Help," I whispered to no one. Fuck, what could I do? Panic gripped me. I needed to call Jake, but he was the one person in the world I couldn't call now.

What the fuck does one do when one can't breathe? Didn't I learn this kind of thing in my first aid training? I grabbed a mirror and used it to try to peer down my throat, searching for an obstruction. Since nothing was there, and it occurred to me that it would be impossible to perform CPR on myself, I did the next logical thing.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I can't breathe," I gasped.

"Ma'am, were you in an accident."

"No."

"Do you have any allergies that you are aware of?"

I shook my head, but then remembered that the woman on the phone couldn't see me. "I- I'm not sure. Maybe I'm having an anaphylactic reaction to something. Please help me?"

"I've already dispatched an ambulance to your location."

"How do you know where I am?" I was astonished.

"All calls are traced."

"Oh."

"Ms. Swan? What's your first name?"

"Bella," I whispered.

"Bella, have you taken any illegal substances today?"

"No!" _Um, that was last night._

"What were you doing when you first noticed that you were having trouble breathing?" Her voice was sympathetic. It made me want to go all fetal.

"Chatting online with a friend."

"Did something happen to upset you?"

"Kinda..." I admitted. I could see where she was going with this line of questioning, and once again, I felt like a douche.

"Bella, have you ever had a panic attack before?"

Not really, but I was aware of the symptoms. The more I thought about hyperventilation, of course, the more I noticed that I had been breathing just fine all along. Unless it really was possible to die from embarrassment, I was pretty sure I'd live.

"Is it too late to call off the ambulance?" I asked sheepishly.

"Yes, honey. You're gonna have to stay put."

_I'm such an asshole._

-({})-

I've never been the kind of girl who found older men sexy (despite what my therapist would insist), however Dr. Cullen was the sexiest piece of Mougar meat I'd ever seen. Honestly, when he took my pulse, I nearly creamed my panties.

"Your heart rate is a little fast. Are you nervous?"

"Yeah...a little."

He smiled reassuringly. "Bella, you had a panic attack. The Ativan in your IV should already alleviating your stress. After I get your bloodwork back, I'm certain I'll be able to discharge you."

My panties soaked even more at the mention of the word "discharge." I smiled, swaying slightly on the exam table, and tried to let my hospital gown fall down my shoulder in an alluring manner. "You're really hot," I stammered.

"Thank you, Ms. Swan. I should warn you of some of the side effects of-"

"You're Sex-hair's father!" I screamed.

"Pardon me?"

"Sex-hair! You know, Abercrombie swagger, bronze fuck-me hair and gorgeous as all fuck...what's his name?"

Dr. Cullen appeared positively flummoxed, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "Er...Emmett?"

"Edward," Sex-hair corrected, smirking at me from the doorway.

Dr. Cullen turned away from me, and deposited his penlight into his coat pocket. "Son, what are you doing here?"

"I saw the ambulance pass by the Swan house and I was worried," he explained, looking at me with genuine concern, not just morbid curiosity.

"Who let you into the ER intake?"

"A nurse," he shrugged.

"Which nurse?"

"I don't kiss and tell."

Oh my God, he was such a slut!

"I didn't realize that you were friends with Bella."

"Yeah, well...we bumped into each other once."

My mouth went completely dry, and it occurred to me that I needed to say something profoundly perfect. However, what the fuck could I say to fix this situation? I mean, he heard me refer to him as "Sex-hair."

"They gave me Ativan," I explained, "and now I have discharge."

So much for second impressions...

-({})-

It was nearly dusk by the time I made it home. Somehow, in the tiny town of Forks, where your business is everyone's business, I managed to evade Charlie. Since his cruiser wasn't around, it was safe to assume that he remained blissfully unaware of my panic attack and ensuing hospital visit. Jake, on the other hand, was waiting for me on the front porch.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, fisting his pockets.

"I'm high on tranquilizers," I replied.

"What? Why?"

"Oh, so now you want to talk?"

"Hey," he complained, grabbing my wrist. "I tried to talk to you this morning..."

"But you bolted." There was a tremble in my voice that I couldn't control. I bit into my lower lip, concentrating on the dull pain that it created in the corner of my mouth. Jake's hand tightened around mine.

"Why did you say that...about your stepfather?"

"I dunno, because I'm an asshole?"

"Bells...you weren't serious, right?"

My eyes burned. I looked up at the porch light and imagined utter ridiculous shit, like midgets salad tossing and stuff, to try to keep myself from crying. My mouth contorted into a wide grin, cracking the dry corners of my lips. "What if I was?" I giggled.

Jake's hands went limp, and then he dropped my wrists altogether. My hands fell lifelessly at my sides. "So, this is a joke," he said, walking away. "Another plea for attention. Well, shit, Bella...you got my attention. I've decided I don't like you much anymore."

"I was totally serious." I couldn't stop laughing. Foxes were now invading my thoughts, little animated foxes dressed up as stewardesses. They were serving martinis to squirrels. "He's been coming into my room since I was fifteen." Tears rolled down my cheeks, and the stupid grin would not leave me.

"Go to hell, Bella."

"Don't go, Jake...please..." I gasped, desperately trying to inflate my lungs with air. "I've never told this to anyone before." Panic. It seeped into every cell of my body. The words I swore I'd never utter aloud were now released into the universe and I couldn't take them back. "I don't want you to hate me...I know I'm a freak, but you're the only real friend I've ever had."

He froze, the tense muscles of his back seems to ripple with further tension as he processed my words. His arm bent at his side, his hand clenching into a fist. "Bells?" he whispered, sounding childlike and desperately fearful. "This didn't happen to you. Please tell me this didn't happen?"

Jake's terror was what did me in. I had always managed to justify my arrangement with Phil, knowing in my core that what I was doing with him was too disgusting for words. Seeing Jake come apart knocked my feet from under me. I fell to my knees and howled out a terrible cry. The secrets I should never have spoken were now the only thing Jake would ever think about when he looked at me.

I succumbed to this terrible emotion, this despondent humiliation that plagued me, and allowed Jacob to witness my breakdown. He pulled me into his arms and whispered words that held no meaning, but still they soothed me, and I cried against his chest. I'd lived in denial for so long.

Finally, I had allowed the floodgates open. I drowned.


	4. Sirens

Facebook Status: Gonna cut a bitch

My eyes were glued to my iPhone as I scuttled down the stairs. The stupid Tweetdeck app was being a little bitch, refusing to update.

"Shit and fuck and stuff," I muttered lazily, unable to muster enough emotion to formulate a proper curse. Well, it seemed Effexor was successful at achieving apathy in a teenage girl; someone should award Pfizer a fucking Nobel Prize in medicine for that shit.

 _Thud!_ At the bottom of the stairs, I found myself flat on my ass. Somewhere above me hovered the arm of Charlie's sofa and a leg that jutted out hazardously.

"Fucking ow!" I yelped and punched the offending foot with a limp fist. "You legged me in the crotch!"

"Hey, that tickles." Jake complained, kicking the leg that hung awkwardly off the side of the couch.

"You're sleeping on my couch?"

"What are you doing?" he asked groggily.

"Tweeting you..." _Hm, I guess I could stop doing that._ "Dude, you didn't have to do that. You're way too huge to be sleeping on that tiny seventies throw-back of a sofa." Conversations were so difficult in real life. My generation had serious issues stringing more than 140 characters together.

Jake rubbed his eyes in confusion, his dark hair falling over his brow in messy strands. "It's fine," he said hoarsely.

I hated the way he was looking at me, like I was pathetic — a freak show. Jake never treated me like a carnie before. This inequity between us was new and terrible to me. Before he knew the truth about Phil, Jake always had me up on a pedestal, and sure, over the years, the pedestal had gathered dust, but he was pretty clear about his feelings about me. Fuck, my legs started to tremble just remembering the other night at First Beach; the kiss, and the incredible feeling of Jake growing hard between my thighs.

It didn't matter. There was no way in hell he would ever want to touch me again. It was a shame, really, the way I wasted our first kiss by acting like an emo douchebag. If I had known that would be our only kiss, I would have taken the time to actually live in the moment and enjoy myself.

"People must have been freakishly small in the dark ages of fashion. It was likely due to malnutrition or some shit. You know, from all the liberal drug use and unprotected fucking. Syphilis and LSD—" Jake's hand covered my face, effectively silencing my sad little rant.

"Bells, could I get some coffee at least before you start waxing retarded?"

He removed his hand from my lips, and I said, "Avoid the clap."

"Oh my god, you're such a freak!" His smile cut off and his eyes widened, the last word of his sentence reverberating through the tiny house. The room had morphed into a mausoleum. "I mean, not that you're really a freak or anything…just that you're saying silly things."

"Jake," I whispered. "Could you leave please?"

"Honey, no. You totally misunderstood me." He tried to pull me into his lap, but I made my body rigid.

"Yeah, see, I don't think I did." There was no fucking way I was going to let myself cry. "Can't you just forget what I told you, Jake?" I took a deep breath and cringed, "...about Phil."

"I really think you need to talk to someone about this."

"No! Therapy is a load of bullshit. You think confessing your secrets cures you of your demons? It doesn't. It unleashes them. Repression is the healthiest way to deal with unpleasant shit; repression and inappropriate humour." To emphasize my point I added, "Wanna do it?"

"Huh?"

"I just offered you my sweet, nubile little ass."

"Um...what?"

Oh my god, he was practically brain-dead. "Fuck," I clarified. "Would you like to _fuck_?"

"Stop it," he grumbled and stretched his arms toward the ceiling, the muscles of his very naked torso rolling under his skin. "You're not funny."

"I think I'm fucking hilarious. Also? I'm tired of this bullshit. I just want to be a normal girl and do something a wonderfully normal girl would do, like fuck her boyfriend." _Oh shit!_ "I mean, not that you _are_...my boyfriend. Just, you know, you're a guy and..." _Fight or flight, fight or flight?_

An obnoxious grin spread over Jacob's stupid face. "You want me to be your boyfriend?"

"Dude, I just asked you to fuck me, and that's what you're choosing to smile about?"

He jumped off the couch and tackled me, pushing me down into the carpet. Gasping, I grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back. I was about to yell "say uncle," but Jake must have thought I was pulling him toward me. He groaned and buried his head against my neck, ignoring my hair pulling altogether. At first, he did nothing but pant hot little breaths against my skin.

"Jake," I whispered. "I know you're probably freaked out by what I told you and stuff...but I just want things to be normal between us." My voice trembled. He lowered his face to my shoulder and nuzzled against me, pulling my shirt down slightly by the collar. The back of my shoulder had a dimple that I always hated. A tiny sigh seemed to rumble out of him as he continued to breathe against my skin, his mouth hovering just above the hated shoulder dimple. Still he didn't kiss me. "I know you don't think of me that way, but do you think you can try? I mean, I don't want to beg or anything, I just...fuck."

"You think I don't find you sexy?" Jake stopped cuddling against me and looked at me with wide, astonished eyes.

"I know you don't."

"You know nothing," he growled. A shadow fell upon me, and it took me a minute to realize his face was connected with mine. His mouth was hot and wet against my own. Inexplicably, he tasted like black liquorice and tobacco. Sucking his lower lip into my mouth, I wrapped my arms around his neck and moaned quietly against him. He echoed my moan and rubbed the small of my back.

He gasped in a breath and held it, as if he was trying to concentrate on staying in control. Fuck, that was hot...and fuck if I didn't whimper when he pulled away from my mouth, keeping my face cupped in his hands. "I adore you, Bella." The words sounded like prayer.

"Jake, you don't have to say that...but thank you." I hugged him, relishing in the heat of his body and the way his strong muscles felt under my palms. "I gotta go."

"What? Where?"

"Calm down, Cassanova. I'm just registering for school."

"Oh, alright." He stood awkwardly, grabbing a pillow off the couch and holding it over his stomach.

"You're hiding a boner, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Yeah...like I said, you're such an asshole for thinking I didn't want you."

-({})-

The silver fucking Volvo was behind me again! _Edward_. Oh, god, I shouldn't have been so excited to see his car, considering the fact I just swapped spit with Jake, but I couldn't help myself. Something about that boy just seemed to call out to me...like a siren song... like the mermaids in T.S. Eliot's poem "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock."

He sang to me.

That was really poetic and shit.

My knees turned to mush as I pulled into the parking lot of Forks High. What a lucky coincidence this was! Most other students would have registered for school already, but Edward must have been away or something this summer.

As soon as I wrenched the gearshift into park, I grabbed my notepad from the glove box of the Dodge-Beast.

Quickly, I scribbled out a few lines of poetry, becoming obsessed with the image of the sea. _I have heard the mermaids singing each to each._ As long as I italicized my reference to Prufrock, bogarting Eliot's stellar line was only an allusion, not plagiarism.

Edward and a little dark-haired girl emerged from the Volvo, and my stomach dropped. Was she his girlfriend? He noticed me sitting frozen in the front seat and waved.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself, crawling over the parking brake and kicking open the passenger door.

"What was that," Edward asked with a silly grin. Actually, he looked kind of distracted.

"Oh, my door is stuck so..."

"Oh my God, Edward, go inside, and get this the fuck over with!" That little dark-haired cunt hissed, causing his beautiful face to pucker in annoyance.

"This is my sister, Alice." _Just his sister!_

"Hi, Alice."

"Yeah, don't bother." She had the audacity to roll her eyes at me.

"I'll be back...Bella, do you want me to pick-up a registration package for you too?" Edward's voice was apologetic.

"Um...sure. Thanks!" I beamed. He turned away, and I tried to discern the shape of his ass beneath his charcoal pants as he swaggered toward the school.

"What the fuck are you wearing," the perfectly-coifed demon snapped, wrenching me away from my fantasy.

"Um…jeans." I looked down at myself to make sure I hadn't accidentally dressed myself in excrement. I mean, she held her nose in such a way as to suggest that I quite literally looked like shit.

"Those aren't jeans."

"Yeah-huh!" Denim equals jeans, yes?

"Who makes them?" She wasn't looking at me anymore as she asked this. She was clacking away at the screen of her iPhone 4. Okay, I couldn't give a shit about her stupid expensive clothes or malevolently shiny hair, but fuck if I wouldn't give Jake's left nut for that phone. Well, maybe not his nut since I had certain designs on that general area, but at least a finger or something.

"Um, who makes my jeans?" She nodded distractedly. "Well, they're from Old Navy, so they were probably made by a ten-year-old in China."

"That's disgusting." She glared at me, and I felt ashamed of my comment.

"Look, it was a bad joke—"

"Old Navy! No wonder you look like utter shit."

"Oh my god, you really are an evil bitch!"

She dropped her phone into her colourful purse and artfully brushed her glossy hair behind her ears. Where Edward was all strong angles and messy hair, Alice looked like her face had been sharpened with a knife, like I could cut myself on her the eerie smile that stretched across it."You just committed social suicide."  
The maniacal laughter that poured out of me served to freak her out very well. She ran toward the school, while I sat beside my truck on the curb, staring at my scars.

_I have heard the mermaids singing each to each. I do not think they sing to me._


	5. That's Not a Glass Slipper

Facebook Status: Who the fuck do I think I am, Cinderella?

"Do you think it's too random to take up smoking as, like, a conscious choice." I was speaking much too fast, but I was worried that if I didn't stop, something stupid would happen. Honestly, I was not equipped to have a conversation with this boy. He was too fucking perfect. "Really stupid idea, actually. With my luck, I'd lose a lung to cancer by the time I'm twenty. I'm pretty sure my sole reason for existing is to be a cautionary tale. Do you ever feel that way?"

Sex-Hair smiled his crooked smile, and the light from the midday sun sparkled off his teeth like God was shining a fucking spotlight on him. He was one of those beautiful people I was supposed to despise on principle for being perfect when I couldn't be. I didn't despise him at all. I kinda wanted to lick him a little...well, a lot.

"What did my sister say to upset you?" he asked simply and plucked a piece of lint off my t-shirt, like touching me was the most natural thing in the world. He rubbed the lint onto his pant leg, only a couple of inches away from the seam of his crotch. What a lucky fucking piece of lint.

"Oh, nothing really. I couldn't possibly take her seriously...she's too, er, short."

My breath caught in my throat. It occurred to me I was still staring south of his equator, and so help me, I could make out the outline of his dick through the denim. _I wonder if he's a grower or a shower..._ I dragged my eyes to his face, hopefully before he could realize that I was a depraved hornball.

Edward's face broke out into a wicked grin, and I noticed that his teeth weren't actually that perfect at all. If anything, his incisors were a little too pointy, and there was a sesame seed or something lodged between his front teeth. Yeah, unfortunately, this only made me lust after him harder, and because I was a sick fucking freak, I wanted to dislodge it with my tongue.

"I'll protect you from her wrath." He passed me the registration forms, looking down at my hands when our fingers brushed. "Wow," he said. "A spark. Did you feel it?"

"I have a boyfriend," I blurted like an asshole and thrust the forms back at him for no reason I could think of.

"Electrostatic phenomenon."

"Guh?" My fingers were burning from his touch. Come to think of it, my loins were on fire too. I never really noticed my loins before Edward Cullen touched my hand. I think they were located somewhere in my clit. Yep, my clit was totally twitching, trying to call attention to herself. "Over here," she screamed. "I want to feel the spark too!"

"Static shocks never happen in Forks; it's too damn wet. You must be some sort of demon, Isabella Swan."

"Maybe you're the demon," I challenged.

"Oh, most definitely. I'm having very evil thoughts at the moment. Thoughts that I'm pretty sure your boyfriend wouldn't appreciate." He dragged his finger across my cheekbone, and I swear, I nearly came. I could feel his caress on my face as if his finger was trained on my clit. Oh, fuck, I wanted to take his hand off my stupid face and stuff it in my panties.

"Why?" I squeaked. Fuck, why was I genetically predisposed to being an asshole? Why couldn't I be one of those blessed suave bitches that I hated so much? This whole fucking conversation was positively surreal. Also, I was in love with Jake, and I refused to be a douche by cheating on the only good thing I'd ever known. Despite the voice of reason firmly demanding I back away from the object of my almost violent lust, I found my head tilting forward. Kissing Edward was something I felt compelled to do. Shit, I had no other way of explaining it. His mouth drew me forward like an object pulled toward the singularity of a black hole. My entire universe spun on its axis.

"Bella...I'm a complete schmuck." He turned his face away from me just short of our lips grazing, and I died a little. "I promised my dad I'd leave you alone."

"Okay," I said lamely and covered my mouth with my hand. Everything was still spinning a little, and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, my body a live wire fed with adrenaline and despair.

"I don't think we should be friends," he added, hammering a stake through the heart. I swallowed thickly and inhaled a strangled gasp, willing myself not to show any emotion. Only seconds ago he was about to kiss me. I was positively reeling.

"Yeah, no worries." There was no way I'd allow myself to cry in front of this asshole. A tear totally slid down my cheek though. "I'm wearing the wrong jeans and stuff. Alice already read me the riot act on my crimes against fashion."

"Oh, god, Bella-no! That's not it at all. Look, will you just trust me when I say I'm not the right kind of friend for you?"

I hardly knew this guy. How dare he have this kind of power over my emotions? "You egotistical prick!" I spat. "I don't give a fuck about you...and yeah, I totally don't want to be friends with you or whatever." With clumsy fingers, I dug through my backpack for the keys to my truck.

"Wait, Bella. Just hold on a sec so I can explain myself-"

"Fuck you!"

I ran away, and I'm pretty sure he didn't try to follow me. In my haste, I dropped my registration papers. It was totally an accident. _Totally_.

"Bella, wait! Don't you need this?"

 _Nope, not turning around._ _I could find another way to register for school_ , I reasoned with myself as I heard him collect the papers I dropped.

Honestly, I just wanted Edward to disappear and leave me alone.

Who the fuck was I kidding?

-({})-

"I meant to go shopping, Bells." Charlie frowned at the Pop-Tarts on my plate. He sighed heavily and opened the fridge.

"C'mon, Dad, you can keep looking, but that won't magically put food in there. It's fine. I'm totally used to fending for myself. Can I have a beer?"

"No."

I snorted out my disgust, shooting pastry out of my nose and across the table. "Fucking, ow!" Instantly, my hand shot up to rub the bridge of my nose. Only I could manage to injure myself while eating. "So there're no vegetables in the house but we have a case of Bud?"

"Two cases. Gotta have my priorities straight." He tilted his head back and swallowed the rest of his beer. "I'm going to the Lodge for a bit."

"Cool." Would it be needy of me to call Jake? The evening yawned before me like a gaping chasm. Hm, come to think of it, my gaping chasm was feeling kinda needy too.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?" I could totally tweet him...maybe that wouldn't be as needy as calling. Sex probably wasn't a good idea, but that didn't mean he couldn't make me come a little, did it? I could lure him over with beer and pussy. What kind of guy would say no to an offer like that? I was pretty sure a twitter poll would reveal a pussy-plus-beer-offer would make me a super cool and awesome girlfriend as opposed to a needy twat.

"I've counted the beer bottles, so don't be scheming to get drunk."

"Well, fuck."

"Oh, and by the way, you and Jake aren't fooling anyone."

My entire body jerked in surprise, jostling my plate on the table. Alright, _that_ got my attention. "What do you mean?" I blinked rapidly, feigning innocence.

"Billy and I know you're sweethearts."

I snorted again. _Sweethearts?_

"Please stop horking Pop-Tarts at me. Yeah, we figured it out. Billy said Jake won't stop yammering about you."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He smirked. "I told him you get all moon-eyed every time I mention anything to do with La Push or fishing or-"

"Oh my god, you didn't! What if Billy tells that to Jake? Dad, don't you know anything? He's going to have the upper hand now!" So I totally sounded like George Costanza, but I had no hand! There was no way I could ask him to come back tonight without losing face.

"Calm down, Bella. The kid is crazy about you. Billy says-"

"I don't want to hear it."

-({})-

" _Thirty-two bottles of beer on the wall. Thirty-two bottles of beer,_ " I sang. My pitch was shit, but it didn't really matter since I was naked and drunk and alone. The bed squeaked as I shifted on the mattress and pressed my fingers roughly against my clit. I closed my eyes and picked up the pace, imagining Jake's heavy body rocking on top of me. Moaning, I slid a finger inside myself and pumped it rhythmically, concentrating on summoning to mind the way his muscles rippled as he moved, but I couldn't quite hold on to the image. Jake was blurry around the edges, and I shuddered, anticipating the terror that was sure to follow - the same terror that had robbed me of my orgasm for the last year. I couldn't come when the object of my wank sessions would always be replaced by the face of my nightmares.

But that didn't happen this time: Jake morphed into Edward. I cried out and pushed another finger inside of my pussy, imagining his dick throbbing inside of me.

"Do you feel the spark?" imaginary Edward panted into my ear.

"Fuck, yeah! Oh, fuck, I feel it," I yelled, bearing down on my hand. He groaned out the sexiest sound, which I echoed.

"I just can't stay away from you, Bella. I'm too selfish...I need you."

"Then don't," I pleaded, feeling exhilarated and strangely, a little frightened as a blissful heat spread across my pelvis.

"You're beautiful," dream Edward whispered reverently while releasing into me. In that moment, I even felt kind of pretty. I added a third finger and came around my hand imagining it was Edward's cock.

Well, fuck. It was a perfect fit.


	6. Breaking Wave

Facebook Status: OMG I totally drowned again!

Fuck Billy Black and the horse he rode in on. Well, maybe not the horse. There was no reason for the horse to take it up the ass.

I was slightly hung-over. Actually, judging by the way I was swaying on my feet as I stood on the rickety old porch of the Black house, I suspected I was still a fairly blotto. The door screamed on its hinges as Billy opened it. His eyes were squinted in at the corners, his expression somewhat weary.

"Uh, hey. I need to see Jake," I said, twitching uncomfortably. Billy made no move to let me in. "You could use some WD40 for those hinges," I added.

"Jake's sleeping." His voice was kind of gruff. Who the fuck pissed in his cornflakes?

"Okay..." I stuffed my hands in my pockets.

"We should talk though, Bella."

"Why?" I asked rudely. I didn't meant to be a jerk, but I had no idea what in the world Billy and I would ever _need_ to discuss.

"Come in," he finally invited, rolling his wheelchair back away from the doorframe.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll just wait in my truck."

"Don't be silly."

"Nah." It appeared we were at some sort of ridiculous impasse. We stared at each other for a minute until I couldn't stand looking at his weathered, leathery skin any longer. "Yeah, I'm gonna go. Can you tell Jake I'm at the beach when he wakes up?"

"Wait, Bella. What do you know about imprinting?"

My phone was beeping. Did Jake try to text me last night while I was flicking the bean to Sex-Hair? Shame instantly filled me.

"Wha?" I dug my phone out of my pocket just as Billy rolled himself forward onto the old covered porch, the wood squeaking beneath his wheels.

"Did Jacob tell you about imprinting?"

"Er... like with carbon paper?" All that I could think of was taking an impression of a credit card for a receipt, but imprinting would be kind of outdated. "Do merchants still imprint credit cards?"

"I don't think you understand me. Animals imprint in the wild."

"Like ducks?"

"No."

"Cats?"

"Wolves, Bella."

"No, I don't think wolves imprint." Who would give a wolf a credit card? Oh my god, my inner monologue was fucking hilarious! Too bad I didn't suffer from a multiple personality disorder; only I was privy to this fuckery.

Billy opened his mouth to keep yammering, and I realized I needed to change the subject, lest I be regaled with another stupid legend. "Did I leave my diaphragm in your bathroom?"

"I'll let Jacob know you're at the beach," he said curtly, shutting the door.

-({})-

I couldn't quite breathe right. There were three messages on my phone:

E.A. Cullen - Ohai pretty girl. You left your registration package when you bolted yesterday. jsyk, I'm a complete dick.

Phil Dwyer - Isabella, please call me. I miss you.

E.A. Cullen - BTW I didn't mean that I didn't want to be friends, only that you were better off not being friends with me. Sorry for the cryptic message.

-({})-

It was way too cold for late August by the ocean, and the waves were positively violent. I really wanted to pull my iPhone out of my raincoat to check my messages, but I was worried about it getting wet. The windblown water was nearly torrential. I chewed on a chunk of hair - an annoying latent childhood habit - and sucked on the ice that clung to the strands in shards. My frozen hair made me notice how much my teeth were chattering, the wind and ice water burning my skin as the elements assaulted me. This was the very epitome of a pathetic fallacy. I wrapped my arms around my chest in a vain attempt to hold myself together.

Christ, I was an asshole for sitting in an out -of-season ice storm, waiting for Jake to drag his sorry butt out of bed. It would be in my best interest to go home and indulge in a hot bath and a lazy day, but I was trying to avoid Charlie's wrath. Dude was going to ground me for drinking his crap beer. Couldn't help jacking his Bud though; I needed the anaesthesia only imbibing copious amounts of alcohol could offer. I was a pathetic void of need, which, I guessed was only slightly better than being a hackneyed vacuum of want.

Even though it was Edward whom I couldn't shake out of my mind, I found myself needing Jake. Yeah, that made me a crappy person, but the way I figured it, I had amassed enough punishment in this lifetime to avoid a little bad karma. I loved Jake. I needed Jake. I was probably using Jake because, despite all of my reasoning, I wanted Edward; a boy I didn't even know. Fuck, my stomach exploded into glorious butterflies as I thought back to my drunken masturbatory fantasy of him, naked and hot and buried deep within me.

I wanted him. Yep, I was indeed a vacuum of stupid want after all. An empty vacuum bag that I wanted him to stuff with... well, his cock. I wanted his cock in my cunt. There was no metaphor for this desire. It was base and primal. I wanted him to fuck me.

The comfort I sought wasn't purely sexual though. I yearned for Jake to hold me. I needed to be soothed and cherished. I needed to feel loved, which was utterly pathetic, but I no longer cared. I was prepared to totally prostrate myself before him, and beg for him to love me fully, body and spirit. Despite my ridiculous bravado, I felt very small and terrified. Lonely.

Bitter bile pooled in my saliva as a memory tried to assault me. Inevitably sex always made me think about... fuck. I wasn't sure how Jake would ever be able to touch me knowing about what happened. Despite what he said, that shit with Phil had to weird him out. I mean, I did my best to block everything out, to forget about what happened. It just wasn't possible. Phil had taken up residence in the darkness behind my eyelids; he stalked me in my dreams like an over-sexed Freddy Krueger.

 _Just don't fucking think about him, slut._ But _fuck_ , it was impossible to avoid memories, and my usual tools of repression didn't seem to work anymore.

I scraped the ice crystals from my hair, only to watch them form again in a matter of seconds. My entire existence was a complete exercise in futility.

I grappled in my pocket for my phone, but it didn't matter; my fingers were too cold to negotiate my email app. I should have just waited for Jake inside the house, like Billy had offered, but couldn't fathom the awkwardness and idiocy of his conversation. Seriously! If I had to listen to him go on about another Quileute legend I swore I'd stab my eardrums with a pencil to spare myself the agony.

 _Fuck this_ , I swore to myself, _I'm going to wake him up_. I grabbed my bag and kicked the wet sand out of my Converse, shaking off my hair like a wet dog.

"Hey, Swan."

"Leave me alone," I replied automatically, not even bothering to see who was calling my surname. I didn't feel like making small talk. Meh, who was I kidding? I turned my head and saw Jake's idiot friend Embry waving like an asshole.

"That's cold." He pretended to sound hurt, and I glowered as he jogged down the beach, looking tastier than an asswipe such as himself had any business looking. Honestly, if I didn't get laid sometime soon, I'd turn into a complete sexual predator. Did all girls my age lust this hard after every warm body, or was I really the freak Phil accused me of being?

My stomach lurched into my chest. An unwelcomed memory invaded my mind, and I couldn't will it away.

"I'm going to vomit," I explained.

"Woah, what's wrong with you?" He took off his coat and wrapped it over my shoulders like a blanket. "You're hot."

"Thanks. You're pretty okay too." The shore was moving. I tried to steel myself for an emotional breakdown of some sort, focusing my vision on the shore. Fruitlessly, I sought out a non-moving object, but everything in my field of vision seemed to be lurching and retreating like the crested swells of the ocean.

"I think you have a fever, Bella. Can you walk to your car?"

"Of course I can, asshole," I snapped and promptly fainted.

-({})-

A scream tore through my throat, and I gurgled as an icy crest of water washed over me. I thrashed, lying prone in the water. Oh, god, I couldn't swim.

I was drowning.

I was totally going to die.

I broke through the surface gasping for air, and my chest burned as my lungs inflated.

"Shh, Bells, calm down." I could hear Jake's voice not too far away, but I was too cold to move.

I coughed and sputtered, grasping weakly for his arm.

"I'm drowning," I shrieked. "I can't swim."

"Bella, you're in the bathtub. Calm down."

"I'm in the ocean," I insisted. I remembered seeing it advance on me before I blacked out.

"No, you're in my bathroom. Open your eyes and look."

I saw a faded green tub surround and brown, daisy-covered shower curtains. I saw Jake's face looking down on me. I also saw my nipples.

"Your shower curtains are ugly," I said, completely mortified. I was too cold and distraught to ask obvious questions, such as why I was naked in a bathtub. I tried to sit up, but Jake pushed me back into the water. "I'm cold," I sobbed.

"You're burning up, Bells. Dr. Cullen said we needed to give you a cold bath to get your fever down."

"I'm naked," I wailed.

He put his hand on my cheek and did his best not to look at my tits. He totally failed though.

"What?" Mortified tears burned my eyes.

"I... it's just..."

"Motherfucking what?" I was losing patience.

"You're just so beautiful, Bella," he sighed and lowered his eyes to his lap. "I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life."

Billy's voice came back to me then. _"What do you know about imprinting?"_


	7. In Jeopardy

Facebook Status: diengefcgggjfk;ljerlogfj

_I really, really like Dr. Cullen, like, so much! I mean, who the fuck gives away Percocet for free? A fucking guardian angel, that's who! I feel so good right now. I don't even care that Jake is looking at me like I'm some sort of mental reject. I don't care at all... actually, I'd like to suck his dick. Oh my god, I could totally be sucking his dick right now! Why am I not sucking his dick?_

In point of fact, upon closer inspection I noticed I didn't feel as good as I thought. My back was itchy, and I was full of nervous energy compounded with unfocused lust.

"Jake," I slurred, writhing like a bitch in heat in his ridiculously small bed. "Oooh, why is it so fucking hot in here?" Beads of sweat slid down my brow and into my eyes, blurring my vision and stinging me. My sweat was salty.

Ocean water was leaking out of my pores.

Not really. Tears were made of salt. That was kind of ridiculous when I thought about it... the way the body secretes salt around delicate mucus membranes.

_Pouring salt over wounds._

"Jake," I repeated, squinting through the fog. The way he was looking at me... he was raw need. It was wrong for him to love me. He was sweet and soft and apt to cut himself on my sharp, unpolished edges.

What if I hurt Jake? Could I live with myself? I needed him so fucking much, though. I'd be cutting his heart open while simultaneously crying salt into his wounds.

"Stay under the covers, Bella. Your fever's breaking." He tried to bunch an itchy old blanket around me, and I swatted at his hands.

"Stop it! I have a question." I really liked the way his cheek bones jutted out of his face. I wished I had cheek bones too, but alas, my entire face was still covered in what Renee liked to call 'baby fat'.

"What's your question?"

"I'm going to suck your cock. Take your pants off."

But Jacob morphed into a shadow, and the room filled with steam from an unseen source. Also, suddenly and without warning, Alex Trebek materialized in front of me.

"I'm sorry, Bella," Alex Trebek crooned. "You didn't answer Jacob in the form of a question."

_Um, what the fuck?_

Why was Alex Trebek in the room? "Why's Alex Trebek in the room?"

"Because it's time for Double Jeopardy, Bella. Do you know how to play?"

Wow, this was way trippy. I swear to Microsoft that Alex stood in front of me, plain as day, that Jake's stuffy closet of a bedroom suddenly morphed into a massive sound stage. Spotlights poured down from the ceiling, shining hotly and brightly against the top of my head. The searing heat from what could only be a ten billion watt bulb was burning the skin off my forehead.

"Cool, but could you dim the lights?"

"Bella?" I could hear Jake's voice in the distance, but I wasn't paying attention. I had a game to play.

Alex Trebek no longer had a mustache, which just irked me to no end. A true quiz show host should be mustachioed. Nevertheless...

"Yeah, I know how to play." A canned soundtrack filled the room with staggered cheering and an overwhelming applause. I bowed deeply in response. This was so exciting! I fucking loved game shows.

"Pick a category, Bella," Alex's conspicuously naked mouth demanded.

I squinted but only could see one topic.

"I'll take 'My Stepfather Fucked Me' for $1,000, Alex."

The studio audience erupted into boos and hisses.

"No, no, no!" I screamed. "Shut the fuck up!"

All sound cut off. The silence was so thick it echoed.

"Isabella?"

"Bella," I said automatically and turned my head, meeting a pair of emerald eyes I wasn't expecting. "Dr. Cullen?"

"Jacob, I'd like you to leave the room, please." His voice was even and urgent, all at once.

"I... Bella, do you want me to leave?"

"What happened to Jeopardy?" I asked softly.

"There's no TV in the room," Jacob replied, not to me but to Dr. Cullen.

"Yeah, I think you both should get the fuck out." I was feeling uncharacteristically snarky, and they were harshing my delirium. "I'd like some more Percs, though, from Sex-Hair's father."

"Who's Sex-Hair?"Jacob snapped.

I wanted my quiz show porn back.

"I need to get to the hospital, Bella. I'd like you to come with me," Dr. Cullen said carefully, smoothing down his dark blond hair as it threatened to misbehave as badly as his son's did. "Her fever is broken," he explained to Jake. "She's just a little confused."

"Um… yeah, no. I just want to go home." I chewed mercilessly at my lower lip in a way that could be described as thoughtful, but really, it was a disgusting compulsive tendency. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Talk about what?" His eyes made me think of Edward, and suddenly I wanted to cry for reasons I didn't understand. Even though I totally didn't mean to, I thought about Edward's mouth and the way the left side rose higher than the right when he smiled. Actually, he didn't smile - he smirked...no, that wasn't right, either. The corner of his lip formed a hook. and his face was the bait. His cock, the fishing rod... oops, the good doctor probably was waiting for me to speak, you know, since my mouth was already open.

"That shit you're gonna try to get me to talk about." I looked quickly at Jake, and thank fuck he remained stoic, uncomfortably so. _Don't speak,_ I attempted to communicate telepathically.

"What shit?"

"Don't use your Jedi mind tricks on me. I don't want to talk about the thing I don't want to talk about it. Get it? Not talking."

He sighed. "I'm not a bad guy, Bella. If you don't want to talk to me, there're other people, counsellors, available for you to chat with."

"No," I snapped.

"Alright." His voice was resigned. "I'm going to take you home."

"Wait," Jake interjected. "I'm coming with her."

"No, Jake. I want to be alone." Oh my god, I was such a bitch. The problem was, I was high as a kite and possibly lethally horny.

"Who's gonna take care of you , Bells? Charlie's at work."

"I can take care of myself!" I snarled. Jake raised his eyebrow incredulously. "I can," I insisted.

"I'll call Charlie," Jake said sadly. "You're in no condition to be by yourself."

"Tell him to pick up some more beer on the way home."

-({})-

Dr. Cullen ushered me to his shiny fucking Mercedes, holding my arm like a perfect gentleman. I nearly lost my footing in the overgrowth of Jake's front yard on the short walk from the door to the driveway.

"You need to talk to someone about this, Isabella," he said sternly, opening the passenger side door for me.

"Bella," I corrected harshly.

"Sorry… Bella. What you said in your delirium… it's based on real events." Dr. Cullen wasn't asking a question. He was drawing a conclusion – a correct one.

"Yes," I deadpanned. "Jeopardy is totally real. You should watch it. I bet you'd do well on the sciencey questions."

"I'm talking about your stepfather."

"Nope, I'm so fucking high it's not even funny. That was a complete fabrication... never happened." Briefly, I considered making a run for my truck, but I was pretty sure I'd fall on my face if I attempted it.

"Bella, you're not high, but I'm having trouble believing you. Why don't you try telling me the truth? I want to help you, but I can't do that if you're not honest with me."

"Okay, no disrespect, Dr. Cullen, but seriously?" I pounded my fist against the car door. Truthfully, it wasn't his expensive-looking car I wanted to pound, it was his expensive-looking face. "You know nothing about me at all. I mean, what did I ever do to you or your family?" I swayed, a little wobbly on my feet, and let out an angry growl of Linda Blair proportions. Dr. Cullen tried to steady me by grabbing my arm.

"You're upset with me?" he asked with obvious confusion.

"Yeah-huh."

"How have I offended you?"

"You told Edward to stay away from me," I blurted out. "You think I'm not good enough for your family."

"Isabella—"

"Bella!" I screamed.

"Bella, it's true, I did ask him to stay away from you but not for the reasons you think." His brow furrowed, and he appeared stressed for the first time since I'd met him.

"Why then?"

"I don't want him to hurt you."

I shook my head in confusion. "How is he going to hurt me?"

"I'm sorry, Bella. That's not my secret to tell."

-({})-

It took me nearly a week to get over that stupid flu. The Swans were not a healthy lot, to say the least.

I totally got in shit for drinking the beer.

It was totally worth it.

My punishment was therapy. Nope, I wasn't even kidding. My poor, soft gray matter was about to get an ass raping.

Dr. Cullen, the fucker, gave my father the name of a therapist, and Charlie didn't have the stomach to accompany me to my therapy session, not that I wanted him there. I could only thank holy crows that Cullen didn't spill the beans about Phil.

I sat in Dr. Bert Banner's waiting room (of course he wouldn't have a cool name like Bruce) and typed a crude lemail to the only man I ever fucked.

_Phil,_

_I'm about to speak to a therapist. If you cut the word in two, it spells the rapist._

_That's what you are._

_I want a Macbook, or at the very least an iPad._

_Isabella_

I heard muffled voices through the wall, so I pounded my head against it idly. Examining my surroundings, I noted there weren't any reassuring diplomas hanging in the room. Perhaps they were inside his office? I doubted I'd be speaking with an Ivy League doctor of psychotherapy in the no-Starbucks-town of Forks. I was about to unleash the full complexities of my near sociopathic teenage angst on a glorified guidance counsellor.

 _Fuck_ , I hated Dr. Banner already, and I hadn't even met him. I hated him because of his chairs. _Don't judge, you can tell a lot about a person by their furniture_. The chairs in the room were Wal-Mart knock-offs of crap. He forged bad taste.

The door swung open, knocking me ass over tea kettle out of my reverie and onto the floor.

"Bella?"

Oh dear fuck, the voice on the other side of the wall belonged to Sex-Hair. The smirk in his green eyes was gone as he gaped at me.

"Yeah."

"You're...here?"

"So it would seem." He was wearing dark blue jeans, possibly the most beautiful jeans I'd ever seen. "I love your pants," I said lamely. "Wanna go for a smoke?"

"You don't smoke."

"I'm thinking of taking it up. All of the anti-smoking PSAs are making me want to rage against the machine."

"The machine? Like corporate America?"

"Nah, like the government. Tobacco is corporate America."

"I'm pretty sure tobacco is the government too."

"Well, fuck. I'm seventeen, and I want to do something stupid. Do my motives have to be political?"

"Well, no. Only, you brought up politics. We could talk about religion instead?"

I shrugged. "Sure thing. Why are you seeing a shrink?"

Edward took my hand in his, lacing his long fingers through mine. My heart pounded so fiercely I was certain he could feel it through my skin. "Outside, okay?"

"I can't. I have to talk to the therapist. Regretfully, I'll have to decline your offer."

"It was your offer," he reminded me.

"Oh, yeah..." _Please fuck me!_

"Bella... let's talk after, okay?"

"Will you tell me why you're in therapy?" _And possibly fuck me a little?_

"Sure, but I'd rather hear your theories. Want to go for dinner with me?"

I wanted to find a really cool word to accept his invitation.

"Irrevocably," I squeaked. Hm, wrong word.

He smiled nevertheless, hooking me once again with the lure of his lips.


	8. The Perfect Drug

Facebook Status: Oedipussy - say it aloud.

"Rorshark?" Dr. Banner was waving menstrual blotches on large cue cards in front of my incredulous face. "Wasn't he a Sweathog from _Welcome Back, Kotter_?"

"Uh, no. That was Horshack, although I'm impressed with your knowledge of late seventies sitcoms."

"Gabe Kaplan makes me horny," I joked, and the bastard had the gall to write a note in his pad. "Omigod, what the fuck did you just write?"

"That you have bad taste in men," he deadpanned. "The obvious choice would've been John Travolta."

"I'm nothing if not unpredictable."

Dr. Banner set down his pad and picked up another blot. "What does this picture look like to you?"

"An ink jism."

"Jism?" The doctor's eyebrows knitted.

"You know, _come_ but with a 'U'... or the nectar of the wank?"

"This picture looks like ejaculate?"

"Ew! No need to be vulgar." I squinted as if deep in thought. "It looks like a squid going down on a chipmunk. That's actually my honest answer."

"Sorry, Bella... I was looking for a squid going down on a shoe. Don't feel bad; you were half right."

"Jeez, you're a sick motherfucker, aren't you?"

"Bella... can we just cut the bullshit? Will you save us both weeks of pointless sessions and get down to brass tacks?"

"I find your tactics rudimentary at best. Where exactly did you attend grad school?"

"Isabella-"

"Bella!" I corrected quickly. "I refuse to submit to this torture. Sometimes a blob of ink is just a blob of ink. I'd prefer a Freudian methodology."

"Alright." Dr. Banner sighed and put the offending pictures face down on his faux mahogany desk. "Should we discuss oral fixations then?"

A surprised giggle snorted out of my nose. "Ew. No."

"Oedipal complexes?"

Every muscle in my body suddenly ached with tension. I ground my teeth together and shook off the cold, creeping terror threatening to engulf me.

"Sorry - never read that play."

Dr. Banner smiled patiently. "Most people haven't, Bella, but certainly you know what an Oedipal-"

"It's all Greek to me," I said quickly.

"Interesting. You use humour to deflect." He inexplicably handed me a copy of _The Oresteia._ "Read 'The Libation Bearers' and learn about Electra."

"Um, you just happened to have that in your desk?"

"I keep it on hand for patients who demand Freudian therapy." He winked. "Joking aside, I couldn't help but notice a change in your demeanour just now."

"You're full of shit. Nothing's changed." Except my hands were totally shaking, my fingers vibrating like the wings of a hummingbird... or possibly a poorly endowed dildo.

"Bella... do you have daddy issues?"

I nearly fell off my chair. Tears burned the wells of my eyes, but I wouldn't permit them to spill over.

"I think we're out of time."

"Bella?"

"Fuck you!"

"Same time next week?"

I was about to hurl another expletive, but to my surprise, Dr. Banner was grinning.

-({})-

Edward wasn't waiting for me outside, and I was almost relieved. I couldn't do this... I couldn't handle him. He was too perfect; my self-esteem couldn't take being next to perfection and wanting, wanting, always wanting.

 _It's better that I don't see him_ , I consoled myself as my stomach bottomed out with bitter disappointment. Crouching down on the curb outside the medical centre, I noticed an insistent buzzing in my pocket.

Text message from E.A. Cullen - How was your session? Wait for me outside, k?

Shit, shit, shit! He was totally coming! Oh, wow, now I was picturing him coming. Seriously, was I some sort of sexual predator?

I closed my eyes and imagined what his cock would look like, all smooth and big and hot. I imagined dragging my tongue along his shaft and swirling it around the head of his dick.

Maybe I needed to imagine a nice cold shower.

I fiddled with my phone again and realized there were also several emails from Jake. _I should probably call him._ Shit, what was I going to say? 'Hey, I'm going out with this guy tonight, so don't wait up' seemed kind of callous.

Instead, I sent a text to Charlie to let him know I was going out with a friend, and then checked my Tweetdeck to see what was going on with my friends from back home. It was lame, but I missed them. I missed the predictability and even the sheer tedium of my old routines. Now I was a mess of jittery energy like an exposed, raw nerve - a live wire with nothing to ground me. What had grounded me before? Complacency, maybe? The knowledge that nothing in my life was going to get any better, so I might as well play the shitty hand dealt to me?

Renee had no fucking clue. How could she not know what was going on under her own roof? I mean, my bluff was good, but it shouldn't have been _that_ good.

Did she really not know, or were the stakes just too high?

Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck. Edward was going to be here any second, and my mind was decidedly in a bad place.

Why was I waiting for him, the boy with the silver fucking Volvo? Jake was the safe bet. Why was I testing my shitty luck?

I should've known better.

Edward was totally going to gut me.

I totally didn't care.

His car squealed its way into the parking lot, leaving tire marks in its wake, and the passenger door swung open as if by its own accord. I mean, the car hadn't even come to a complete stop yet.

"Hey, beautiful." He smiled, his face lighting up as if he was just as eager to see me as I was to see him.

Oh, fuck... I was a dead woman.

"Hi," I said, trying to step into his car without breaking my neck. Fuck, I couldn't even muster up the courage to look at him. Instead, I examined the car, marvelling at the interior leather. I dug my fingers into the chair, and they sunk into the material is if it was made of churned butter. "Why is my ass sweating?"

"Seat warmers." He shrugged. "Are you hot?"

"So hot... I mean, uh, yeah. Sorry, I just don't like being overheated. Could you crack a window?"

"Sure thing."

That fucking smile! I could only see half of his face, but I knew he was doing that smirk hooky thing with his lip. I wanted to bite it off his face. And did he change his clothes? It was hard to tell in the dim of the car, but his sweater seemed to have changed colours from a dark grey to a pale blue. Certainly it didn't need to be so tight? I could practically count his abdominal muscles - not that I was ogling.

"Put your seatbelt on," he ordered, but I couldn't seem to move just yet.

"Why? Is it a law in Washington?"

"Yes, but that's not why. You're very precious cargo." His hand gripped the gearshift, and once again I thought about his cock.

"Dude, is that a compliment? Because you just insinuated I was property."

"Not property - cargo, and sadly, not mine."

_Wait, what?_

My stomach dropped as the car lurched forward.

"You, er... what?"

He turned to look at me. "You're fucking beautiful, Bella." His voice seemed to darken. "If only this wasn't so fucked up."

"Keep your eyes on the road," I whispered, my voice cracking with shock. He looked away and sighed, gripping the steering wheel with his left hand so hard I could see the tendons in his forearm shudder beneath his shirt.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah, I'm sort of counting on that."

"Could you be a little more cryptic?"

He snorted. "Yeah, probably."

"What do you mean by things are fucked up?"

"Well, for one thing, you have a boyfriend." The corner of his mouth twitched, drawing my attention to his ridiculously sexy jaw.

"What else?" I asked quickly.

"Why are you in therapy? Why did my dad have to give you Ativan?"

"Because I tried to kill myself," I said without thinking.

"Did you want to die?" he asked somberly.

"Not really."

"Then why did you do it?"

I shrugged. "I was looking for an exit strategy... look, can we talk about something else?"

"Yeah, sorry." He turned off the radio. I didn't even notice it had been on. "Do you have any hobbies?"

"Yeah," I laughed. "I write terrible poetry about killing myself."

"You're awesome." He was smiling.

"Thanks." I smiled too.

I leaned back against the rich, leather seat and closed my eyes, trying to calm myself. I knew it was utterly ridiculous, but my senses were overwhelmed from being in such close proximity to him. His scent, a mix of light cologne and a titillating musk I couldn't identify, permeated the air and made me dizzy. Drool nearly escaped the corner of my mouth as I took in gulps of eau de Edward.

"Hey, are you okay?" He took my hand in his and placed it over the gearshift. His foot pressed down smoothly on the clutch, and he dragged both my hand and the shift into fourth gear.

The engine roared, and I just about liquefied.

"Yeah… I'm fine. Tired…"

He squeezed my fingers, his skin cool against my own hot hand, and I felt the car lurch again as he pushed us into fifth.

I couldn't help it…

It was too much…

I moaned.

"Shit," Edward groaned. "Bella?"

I bit my lip roughly and pressed my thighs together. The tension in my body was crazy. He was barely touching me, but I felt like I was being strummed like a guitar string. I was wound so tight I was apt to break.

"Fuck," I squeaked.

"It's okay. Don't be nervous."

"I'm… mortified." I tried to move my hand off the gearshift, but he wouldn't let me.

"No, baby... don't be." He squeezed my hand again and started gearing down while I tried to calm by breathing.

"Oh my god," I gasped lamely. "What are you doing?"

"Pulling off the road."

"Why?" I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Because I think we're both a little over-excited, and I need to come clean about something."

"You're excited?" The car drifted toward the side of the road, and Edward cut the headlights, leaving us shrouded in darkness.

"Yeah."

"Like, um... aroused?" I could hear his breath hitch at my question.

"I'm hard as a rock."

He told me his cock was hard. I made his cock hard? But he was so perfect, and I was so...

"I want you," I whispered. _Please, please want me too? Please don't reject me?_ Slowly, I reached forward and grabbed his arm. _Please, Edward, if you reject me I'll die!_ "Will you kiss me?"

"I..." His hand covered mine. "This isn't a good idea."

"Please?" I begged shamefully. "Please, please, please..." The horrible, pathetic mantra in my head now filled the car, and there was nothing I could do to take it back. "Please, Edward?"

"Oh, shit, Bella. I can't do this."

"Please?"

He swallowed and pulled my hand off of his arm. "I need to take you back to your car."

"Why?" I was in blood stepped so far already. "You said you were... hard."

"I'm pretty much always hard," he laughed bitterly. "And you're too good for me."

"I'm not," I insisted.

"This was a mistake, Bella... I'm sorry." Without another word, he gunned the engine and jerked the car back onto the freeway.

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what I'd done wrong, but I'd already caused irreparable damage. Biting my lip to keep from speaking, I undid my seatbelt and pulled my knees up to my chest. Precious cargo, my ass. I wanted to be thrown overboard.

"I'm sorry."

"You said that already." My voice trembled.

"Please don't cry. I couldn't stand it."

"Fuck you!" How dare he tell me how to feel? "So this was obviously some sort of elaborate ruse you concocted to humiliate me. Consider me fucking destroyed!"

"No, it wasn't..." He slowed the car, dropping down into third as we neared the parking lot of Dr. Banner's office. "I know you're not going to believe me, but I'm trying to protect you."

"From what?" I hissed.

"From being used." He cut the engine and leaned over me to open the door. "I like you too much."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I snapped. "I'm getting whiplash from your mixed signals. You like me... You want to protect me... I make you hard, but you don't want to fuck me."

"I want to... fuck you. Just resisting you right now is practically killing me."

"What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He lowered his head into his palm and said, "I'm a sexual compulsive, and your pussy is like a drug to me."

Huh. Gotta say, I wasn't expecting that.


	9. Terrible and Pretty Things

Facebook Status: Dicks are men

Wait, what? Weren't all eighteen-year-olds sexual compulsives?

"That's bullshit, Edward. You're telling me you can't control yourself around women?" He walked around the car and offered me his hand, which I slapped.

"No… not _all_ women." He had the decency to appear uncomfortably shamed. I glared at his green eyes, which could be described as emerald if I'd had any fucking clue what an emerald looked like. The word was rich, denoting something beautiful and rare.

The word was apt.

"Um, what the fuck does that mean... not all _women_?"

He shrugged and fidgeted with his sleeve. "I always have trouble controlling my, er, urges... but around you it's that much more difficult."

"So, there's something about me in particular that makes you lose control?" Wait, maybe this was a good thing.

"I'm drawn to you," he started, his eyes still averted. "But not in a good way… I'm not supposed to be dating at all."

"But you like me?"

"I do…" His voice was cautious. "Look, I don't want to mess up your life. It's probably better if we pretend this never happened at school on Monday."

Shit! I forgot about fucking school. "Right. Um, usually the popular kid gets the blowjob from the skank _before_ he pretends he doesn't know her at school." I wanted to be bold and grab his cock or do something equally unexpected, but there was a tremble to my voice that belied my snarky tone. "But if you want to skip ahead to the part where you're a complete asshole without having fun first, then I won't stop you."

"Fuck, Bella—"

"You already declined my offer."

"By fuck, I mean shit! I just revealed something astronomical to you. Why are you ridiculing me?"

"Because this conversation is ridiculous. We're using big words and talking about feelings and shit. The last time I checked, Forks wasn't _Dawson's Creek_." Stepping forward very slowly, I reached up on tiptoe wrapped my arms around his neck, and, to my surprise, he bowed his head against my shoulder and sighed. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be," he said darkly.

"Kiss me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," he paused, and I could feel his jaw clench against my shoulder. "if I kiss you, I won't be able to stop. I can't afford to lose control around you."

"I can take care of myself."

He drew his head back and pulled my hand into his as if he was going to caress it. Instead he pushed up my sleeve, revealing a long, jagged scar - the telltale sign of the suicide I supposedly attempted.

"I'm not willing to take chances with your life."

-({})-

Men were dicks.

Not true, precisely. Dicks were men. Dicks controlled every thought and impulse, causing their owners to do unseemly things.

Edward acted like he couldn't control himself around me, like his lust could take on a life of its own and destroy me.

_Oh, but what a way to go._

It was raining just enough to be annoying by the time I reached the 115, leaving Edward's ghost in my wake. The Olympic fog washed over my windows, and I couldn't help but think of Heathcliff and Catherine - how cruel they were to each other when really, they were in love beyond reason.

But then again, I really fucking hated _Wuthering Heights_ , and even still, this comparison was a perversion of an allegory.

I glared at my eyes in the rearview mirror and nearly dislocated my shoulder wrenching the steering wheel of my car. The tires skidded on the wet, loosely-gravelled road, leading the flatback into a fish-tail fury.

In the darkness, a memory sparked and ignited into flame, like the sudden strike of a match. The monster behind my eyes took shape; even though I was looking straight ahead at the wet highway, his visage was a permanent burn in my brain.

_I can't help myself, Isabella._

"You said that before… you said it would stop." I was speaking aloud even though I was addressing a memory.

_It doesn't have to, you know. I think it could even feel good if you let it._

"No," I said meekly. In those early days, I thought maybe I had a choice in the matter. It didn't take long for me to learn my best defence: it was better to feign enthusiasm than to be violated.

You can't rape the willing.

_My Isabella… I love you so much._

"Then stop."

_I can't. I need you too much._

The engine screamed in protest as it gunned, my foot pressing hard down into the pedal.

Terrible things. I did awful, disgusting things.

Renee and Charlie could never know the shit I'd done- had allowed to be done to me. Because, really, I could lie to myself and play the victim, but how could I justify the little moments; how could I bear their implications? Those little, awful, disgusting moments when I turned to the monster and offered kisses and touches of my own volition. Those terrible little moments when I sought the monster out and invited him into my bed.

Who owned the blame? Surely I was culpable for the _little_ moments.

And what about all the pretty things: the phones, the computer, the music, and books? If I was blameless, why did I accept the pretty things?

Why did I still demand them?

Payment. Payment in exchange for silence.

No, that wasn't right. Payment in exchange for sex.

I was a whore.

-({})-

I couldn't feel my feet at all as I gracelessly trotted across Jake's lawn with heavy, determined steps. Everything was dark, so I crept to the side of the tiny house until I found his window. There was a conveniently placed cord of wood underneath.

"Jake!" I yell-whispered and tossed a handful of gravel at the pane.

"Bella?" Jake opened the window and stuck his head out. "What are you doing outside?" He rubbed his fists into his eyes, pulling back the dark hair that fell forward into his face.

See, that was actually a really fucking good question because I hadn't a clue. Listening to my own loneliness, I offered up the only explanation I could fathom. "I need a cuddle," I whispered meekly. "Could you open the window for me?"

"No," he said simply, looking down at the fallen log I was precariously balanced on.

"Okay, sorry." Too tired to sob, I stepped down carefully, still managing to slip and fall on the wet lawn.

"Shit, Bella?"

"I'm fine, Jake. Don't worry, okay?" Fuck, my hand was bleeding a little, the small cut curving around the side of my palm. Tiny cuts. My body was covered in gossamer white scars. They were battle wounds of the unfortunate. In the moonlight they almost shimmered like a constellation of hurt.

"Jeez, Bells. I wasn't gonna make you stay out in the rain." He was smiling at me, the asshole. "You wanted a cuddle?"

"Fuck you!" I yelled eloquently. "No, I don't want a fucking cuddle from you... not when you couldn't even bother to open the window for me."

I tried to run to my truck, but fell several times in the dim front yard, mostly because there was a ridiculous amount of fallen branches littering the lawn. I mean, what the fuck was up with that?

The front door squeaked on its hinges, and the sound Jake's insufferable laughter filled my ears as he jogged over to me (without falling once). He lifted me off the ground, and threw me over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" I used my fists to pummel his lower back. To my chagrin, my ineffectual blows only made him laugh harder. I lifted the hem of his shirt up so I could gain access to his underwear and give him a wedgie.

"I was afraid you'd hurt yourself, dingus. I only meant for you to go around to the door."

"Oh," I said lamely, finding myself hypnotized by his glutes, clenching and unclenching with each step.

"Um, what are you looking at back there?"

"There are badgers fighting in your jeans. I think there's a grape or something in your underwear."

"Oh, really?" he asked mirthfully.

"Yeppers. I think I'll go in for a closer look."

He set me down on my feet and pulled up his pants like a bashful virgin. The fates had aligned to cockblock me again.

"Are you spending the night?" Jake asked absently, while my stomach fluttered with a most surprising nervous energy.

"Um, I dunno." Shrugging my shoulders, I kept my eyes stubbornly fixed on my feet. Staying with Jake was all kinds of stupid, but I felt myself become giddy at the prospect of being cuddled by him. The rest I could handle as long as he would hold me in earnest.

"C'mon." He dragged me back towards the house, snickering every time I nearly tripped over another stupid fallen branch.

The door screamed again, whereas I could not.

I bit my lip, and keeping my head lowered, I sneaked a peek at his face through my lashes. He was so fucking calm I wanted to kick him.

"Are you afraid of something?" He cupped his palm beneath my chin.

"No," I said, but my voice totally cracked. "I mean… no." Jeez! I felt like such a schmuck.

"Spit it out, Bella. What's got your panties in a bunch?" He ruffled my hair like I was a child. It made sense; I was acting like one.

"I have some questions for you before I agree to anything. There are certain concessions I'm not willing to make unless…" Shit, I forgot to breathe. "Unless I understand how we define this."

"You're speaking 'girl' to me, Bella. Translation, please?"

"This," I repeated, motioning wildly between the two of us. "What are we?"

He pounded on his chest like Tarzan and said, "Me Jake, you Bells."

"Okay, your IQ must be at least _this_ high to get on this ride." I motioned to a spot somewhere near his muscular pecs.

"Well, ask a stupid question, expect a stupid answer." Jake's entire upper body was shaking with laughter. I idly considered kicking him in the nuts.

"Am I your girlfriend?" This time I looked straight at him.

"Bella," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a wide grin. "There's nothing in this world that would make me happier."

"Really? Like, you want us to be… like, a couple." Why the fuck was I speaking like a Valley Girl, or worse, a Canadian?

"Of course! What the fuck, Bells? I've been your bitch for the last four years. Jeez, the guys make fun of me all the time because instead of going out and drinking with them, I've been glued to my computer in hopes that you'll tweet me or ping me."

"You were waiting to be pinged by me?" I was astonished by this revelation.

"Yes, sweetheart. I only ever want to be pinged by you."

"Have you ever, um, been pinged by anyone else?"

"Er, not exactly, no."

"So… you've never pinged before?"

"Um, I've pinged myself a whole lot."

"So…" I trailed off.

"So," he said firmly.

"Should we… I guess, maybe get into your bed?"

"Are you tired?" He wrapped his arms carefully around my back. "Cold? You're shaking so much." He walked us both over to the couch, which creaked with his weight when he lay down, drawing me against his chest. "Get comfortable," he said soothingly in my ear. He was so warm. Rolling into a fetal position alongside his massive body, I snuggled my cheek against his chest, feeling the rhythmic beating of his heart through his shirt.

"So... do you think we should fuck?"

"Was that an offer?" Jake's arms tightened around me. I was pretty sure I could feel his cock becoming rigid against my thigh.

"Um, yeah, I guess…"

"C'mon, Bells." He laughed and collected my hair into a make-shift bun with his hands. "I just want to kiss you, okay?" He mouth was so soft and warm against the back of my neck as he gently sucked and kissed my skin.

"Is that what you think of while pinging yourself… kissing?" I gasped and then let out a god awful squeak-moan.

"Well, no. I think about other stuff too."

"Jenna Jameson?"

"Not porn!"

"Oh my god, you're such a liar. All guys like porn."

"Not this one," he said stubbornly.

I pulled away from his surprisingly skilled mouth, remembering I had another important question for him.

"What was that shit Billy was going on about… imprinting?"

"Crap, he told you about that?" he groaned.

"Well, yeah. He said that your people imprint, and I got the impression he doesn't think I'm, like, imprint material or whatever."

"It's a load of shit." Jake didn't often get angry, but I saw his hands squeeze into fists and his tendons shudder beneath his skin.

"Well, Billy seemed really serious about it."

"That's because he thinks he's experienced it." His voice was bitter. I pulled away so I could watch him speak.

"With your mom?"

"No," Jake said darkly. "Someone else."

"Well, why didn't he marry her then?"

"Because he was already married… to my mother."

Well, fuck. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have asked."

"Why he would have the audacity to talk about that shit with you is beyond me."

"I guess he was trying to make it clear that I'm not the one for you. Actually, I should probably go. I don't think Billy wants me in the house."

"No, Bella, don't you see?"

I shook my head because I really fucking did _not_ see.

"He's protecting you from me. He thinks that I'll fuck around on you if our union isn't an imprint."

"Jeez. That's the lamest excuse for infidelity I've ever heard."

"I know, right? He was just looking for a mystical reason, an excuse, for why he cheated, essentially killing my mother."

"Wait, how did that kill her?"

Jake didn't say anything. He clenched his jaw, holding tension in his mouth. Even though he refused to speak any further on the matter, I was certain he thought his mother's leukemia was borne out of grief. That shit didn't fly with me. Cancer is cruel and indiscriminate.

Rolling onto my stomach, I said the only think I could think of to soothe him. "I trust you, Jake. I know you'd never do that to me." Now that we had declared ourselves to each other, there was no way I'd allow myself to be alone with Edward again.

**A/N - I feel the need to remind y'all this is an Edward/Bella fic. Trust me! Do you think if Stephie Meyer had posted New Moon chapter-by-chapter, she'd have had an author's note promising Eddie would be back? Imagine the flames!**

**Every time you review me I get off.**


	10. Mean Girls

Facebook Status: I've been personally victimized by Regina George!

I was dressed entirely wrong for this school. My run-in with that evil gnome Alice had totally provided me with misinformation about appropriate attire. Hyperventilating in the driver's seat, I took stock of the other kids milling past my truck. They were dressed modestly in jeans, sweats, t-shirts, and non-descript rain jackets. In contrast, my fancy jeans and fitted gingham button-down shirt seemed far too _precious_.

That cunting bitch, with her pointy Lisa Simpson hair and overpriced shoes - she'd been selling me lies, and I totally bought them. Actually, I blamed her brother, mostly for fucking with my already fragile ego... I mean, my complex was _complex_ enough already, comprised of a multitude of insecurities and doubts.

_"I'm a sexual compulsive, and your pussy is like a drug to me."_

Right. Except he made it clear he didn't want anything to do with me. Cullen's words were as paradoxical as the perpetual wood he sported, but was unwilling to split me with.

Fuck, I just wanted to get through this day, to survive so I could see Jake tonight. He was so sweet... practically perfect. It was too good to be true, of course, which left me with a nauseating brick of foreboding in the pit of my belly.

_This too shall turn to shit._

Fuck that! I was going to adopt a new attitude. If I walked through life expecting to fail, it was bound to happen. I refused to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

With renewed determination, I wrenched the truck door away from the chassis... and plummeted to my death. No, not really. But I did manage to fall flat on my ass. It happened seemingly in slow motion - one minute I was stepping casually out of the car, and the next I was splayed out on the tarmac in a questionable puddle in front of practically the entire student body.

Huh. So I had it right the first time: today would be another epic fail.

The pavement was wet and cold against my ass, and I kind of wanted to cry. First impressions had never been a talent for me.

"Shit, are you okay?" A nice-looking blond guy suddenly hovered over me, offering his hand.

"No," I said honestly, pouting.

"Did you hurt yourself?" _I guess not all the guys in Forks are douchebags after all_. He picked my bag off the ground and heaved it over his shoulder.

"Only my pride." I did my best to smile without looking like a creepy asshole. I even tried to blink demurely, but I had a feeling it was coming off more like a psychotic twitch than a delicate flutter. "Um, can I have my bag back?"

"Oh... yeah, of course. I was just going to offer to walk you to class since you're new and stuff." He smiled warmly, his cheeks dimpling in a kind of adorable way. Was it possible he was flirting with me? He wasn't a sex god like Edward or Jacob, but he was certainly too hot to be bothering with the likes of me.

"You could, I suppose." I wiped gravel off my dark blue jeans and frowned. Renee sent them as an early birthday present after she received a frenzied email from me asking if Old Navy denim qualified as jeans. She assured me I could do better, and now my ass was clad in a brand called _Sevens_. In a misguided move, I armed myself with expensive clothes like a shield of natural fibres. That was stupid, I realized, as pair of girls passed by wearing what I assumed were Wal-Mart pants from the Miley Cyrus collection. Obviously the Cullens were the anomaly of Forks High.

"You're Bella, right?"

"Yeah," I agreed.

"What's your first class?"

"AP English in building three." Hm, did that sound like bragging? I wasn't bragging about being in advanced placement... not that guys find that kind of thing hot anyway. It's just that there could be other English classes in that building, and I couldn't remember the teacher's name.

"Advanced, huh?"

Shit.

"Yeah. I'm really smart," I said, because I might as well own it.

"And modest too," pretty blond guy said with a smirk.

"I also have a bitchin' body and a random talent for naming things."

"Um... what?"

"I really good at naming things. Seriously. It's almost freaky to see this talent in action."

"What kind of things?"

"Um... anything really. Show me something and I'll name it." This conversation had become flaccid. Seriously. Viagra couldn't incite excitement into it.

"Like that squirrel?" He pointed to something grey and furry that cut accross our path as we walked toward a really ugly, dilapidated, brown building.

"Shelly. Her name's Shelly."

"Nice."

"Yep. Told you - it's a gift."

"This is you." He handed me my bag, and I felt like a scunt because it occurred to me I had no idea what _his_ name was.

"Hey, thanks. So, what's your-"

"Jasper!"

We both turned abruptly toward the shrill noise.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Sex-hair's sister, Alice, twitched with what I could only suspect was either an epileptic seizure, or a fit that someone stole her gold. Jasper glared as she approached and slung his arm casually over my shoulder.

"Whatever the fuck I want. We broke up, remember?"

Yep, the gods certainly were defecating on me today, alright.

"So, um, you two obviously have some shit to work out over here..."

"Really, Jasper... are you so desperate you'd fraternize with one of Edward's little slut puppets?"

 _Oh, them's fighting words!_ I dropped my bag and attempted to form fists, except I had no clue how to throw a punch.

"No, it's fine," she said suddenly as two ridiculously tall and blonde girls approached her. To my horror, the three of them turned into the classroom I was about to enter.

"You know Edward?" Alice's boyfriend... ex-boyfriend or whatever the fuck he was asked.

"Yeah."

"Are you guys together?"

"Not even a little bit. Hey, thanks for walking me to class, Jackson."

"Jasper," he corrected, even though it was _really_ a stupid name.

-({})-

Those blonde girls certainly weren't wearing Wal-Mart knock-offs. They had that laminated sheen Alice possessed, like their make-up had been applied with indelible paint and their hair had been shellacked into place. They giggled behind my head, whispering in cackles. I was pretty sure I wasn't being paranoid in thinking they were talking about me.

Couldn't I just call them out on it? Wouldn't dealing with the consequences be better than hiding?

Social code dictated that I suffer in silence and pretend not to hear them, but I'd sooner live with the humiliation of their taunts than swallow the caustic anger corroding my stomach lining.

Bravely, I turned my head around and said, "Hey, beetches."

Alice and one of the blondes she was sandwiched between laughed, probably at my audacity.

"So, I take it you're, like, laughing at me?" Dude, what did I have to lose, really?

"I don't know, Lauren?" Alice asked the blonde to her right flank. "Were you, like, laughing at psycho girl?"

"I couldn't be bothered," Lauren said flatly. "Alice, I refuse to believe your brother is fucking that girl. Did you see the plaid shirt? I'm thinking she plays for Rosie O'donnell's team."

Well, I did love baseball…

"Hey! Who the fuck pissed in your cornflakes? Also, I wouldn't fuck Edward with your slop hole," I snapped. "And I'm not a dyke." Not that there was anything wrong with it. "I totally have a boyfriend."

"Who?" Alice asked, and even though her voice remained calm, for an instant, a look of fear registered in her eyes.

"No one you know." I was being purposefully cryptic. Let the little bitch live in fear I was fucking her boyfriend. If it wasn't for Jake, I totally would've just to piss her off.

"Did you see the way the boys were all ogling her in the parking lot?" the one with the strawberry hair asked. "Like a shiny new toy or something."

"So?" Alice demanded.

"Nothing, really. I just thought maybe she'd like to sit with us today at lunch…"

"Tanya!"

"Don't be so dramatic. It could be fun." Tanya smiled at me, and I almost agreed for some perverse reason.

"Sure, Isabella," Alice said suddenly in a saccharine voice. "Have lunch with us. It's not fair that Edward and Jasper are the only ones who know anything about you."

Yeah, this was obviously some sort of set-up to humiliate me. I could smell the pig's blood from a mile away. "Thanks for the offer, er, Tanya, but I refuse to be the Lindsay Lohan to you little _Mean Girls_ group. Sell bitchy somewhere else. I'm already stocked up."

I faced the front of the room, feeling pretty fucking pleased with myself.

"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen," an excited Lilliputian gushed from the front of the room. I had to crane my neck because she was eclipsed by the desk. Jeez, what was wrong with this freaky town? Everyone was either too big or too small!

"I have an exciting announcement!" she yelled, probably making up for her slight stature with an annoyingly loud bellow. Oh, shit, was she staring at me? "We're extremely lucky to have the illustrious Isabella Swan in our class!"

Um, illustrious? Moi?

The tiny teacher looked expectantly at me.

"Um… hi?"

"Oh, Isabella, don't be so modest! Tell the class about your achievements in poetry."

No! She was not doing this to me on the first day in a new school surrounded by ravenously evil teenagers. Fuck my life!

"Um… pardon?"

"According to your transcripts, you have quite the way with words."

Yes. And to illustrate this point I replied with a very eloquent, "Guh?"

"You've been published?" she prompted, her smile faltering at my lack of enthusiasm.

"Yeah, 'lil bit."

"Please come to the front of the class, Isabella."

"Bella," I corrected and stumbled through the narrow aisle of desks to stand beside my teacher, the midget.

"Tell us about _Sirens_."

 _No, thank you._ "Um, okay… so yeah, I wrote a poem called _Sirens_."

"Yes? Tell us more!"

"It was influenced a bit by T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland," although, the format and much of the imagery is more Prufrock." _Baffle them with bullshit!_

"What's it about?"

"Desolation," I said automatically.

"Care to be more specific?"

"Well… as a professor of literature, I'm sure you're aware of how cumbersome it is to offer an interpretation of a poem, even as the author, outside of the text itself." I was totally speaking without saying anything, and my teacher, whose name I didn't even know yet, was nodding emphatically.

"Oh, I agree, which is why I brought a copy of the literature review you're published in with me. I'd like you to read an excerpt for the rest of the class."

This so wasn't happening. I gaped in horror at the dog-eared book she thrust into my hands.

"No... I mean, please, no." How could she request such a thing of me?

She asked again, probably mistaking my terrorized fear for humbled modesty. I shook my head, and she kept harping.

"No," I said rudely, my shoe echoing against the linoleum floor as I put my foot down both in the literal and figurative sense.

I was immovable about this.

"Well... you'd think you'd be grateful. Some of us write our entire lives without being published by even a small University press anthology. Some of us..." she trailed off, smiling stiffly. "It's quite poignant."

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Please, Bella?"

"No."

So she wrote an excerpt out on the chalk board:

_Remember the place I would go to hide?  
The garden. My secret place of worship.  
The flowers no longer bloom in my garden,  
and the rosebushes are covered in blood._

_I am the girl you gave away in the grocery store.  
The girl you raped and cherished in the parking lot.  
I've been loved so dearly I've grown immune._

It was beyond terrible. This was the equivalent of that dream that everyone has - where you're standing in front of a group of people, and suddenly you realize you're naked. Well, instead of my tits showing, the entire class could see my most disgusting scars and primal fears.

I wept silently into my notebook for the rest of the class while the mean girls snickered.

-({})-

Sex-hair wasn't anywhere I could see in the cafeteria, and my stomach was too tangled up in knots to attempt any food.

I saw Alice and her evil army of blondes enter the lunchroom. She tossed her head, barely jostling her immovable hair, and the throngs of students parted like the Red Sea to her Moses.

Cruelty reigned. It always did. I could see it... the fear in the other girls' eyes when Alice and her harpies passed them... the naked jealousy, the terror, and admiration.

Meh, I wasn't impressed. Lindsay Lohan took down Regina George in _Mean Girls_ with foot cream, energy bars, and little bit of duplicity. Maybe I could organize a coup, but then again, who the fuck had the energy for that shit?

Alice and I only shared only the one class, thank fuck. The rest of the girls seemed nice enough, but I could feel their judgment. At least Alice was straightforward with her hatred... the others hid their distrust of me behind lightly veiled hostility masquerading as benign curiosity.

Survival mode was all I needed. I could totally bear the slings and arrows of this outrageous fortune. All I had to do was get through the day and keep my head down. Quietly, I muttered an inspirational mantra akin to the Little Engine that Could's famous affirmation, while expertly plucking out an email to Jake on my iPhone.

"Oh my god! You're the new girl, right?"

I buried my face into my hands and nodded.

"Right. Well, I'm Jessica."

"Don't care," I mumbled into my palms.

"You're so funny." She dropped her lunch tray beside me and sat down as if I'd invited her. Which I hadn't. Okay, when a person is texting on her phone, she's busy! Honestly, there needs to be some sort of legislation implemented about not bugging a person when she's interfacing with her phone.

"So, is it true?"

"Yep." No, I had no clue what she was asking, but answering in the affirmative made her eyes bulge out of their sockets in the most disturbing way.

"Lauren told Kate, which means soon everyone will be talking about it."

"Neat."

"Lauren is totally freaking out. Edward is supposed to take her to Homecoming this year."

"Wait, what?"

Jessica started chewing obnoxiously on her celery like a rodent – like Shelly, the squirrel. "So are you dating or just fucking?"

"Who? Edward Cullen?"

"Yeah."

"Neither."

I decided it would be more prudent to hide in the bathroom for the rest of the lunch period. Interacting with other human beings was proving to be a failed experiment for me.

-({})-

A thrill shot through me when I saw _him_ , despite myself. I squeezed my eyes shut and placed my palm flat against a locker, steeling myself against a possible confrontation.

_I think I can, I think I can, I think I can..._

Swifter than Shelly, I skittered past him, narrowly missing a collision when he abruptly turned and jogged into my path.

"Wait!"

"What the fuck?" I tried to push by him but he grabbed my arm, his fingers burning me though my shirt.

"I just—Alice said something happened first period and you freaked out."

"Yeah. Totally," I confirmed.

"Well… are you okay?"

"Nope. I'm thinking of drowning myself in the school pool. Want to watch?"

"The school doesn't have a pool."

"Damn my shitty luck!"

"What happened?" he asked, following me into the biology lab.

"Nothing really… don't you have to get to class?" I asked distractedly, taking stock of the kids in the room. Jasper sat up front and waved his arm, kicking the stool beside him as if to indicate I should sit there. Suddenly, Edward grabbed my arm and pulled me to a table at the back of the room. "Go to class, Edward," I snapped.

"This is my class." He set his books down beside me and jumped up onto the stool. "We're going to be lab partners," he added nonchalantly.

"I thought you didn't want to be friends." I couldn't help the bitter sarcasm lacing my tone.

"It's probably not smart…"

"Oh my god! Your mood swings are giving me whiplash." And horny. Again, I found myself turned on, even though I was doing my damnedest not to look at him. I swear I could smell him. He was sweating sex hormones or something.

"Look… I just… I know you have a boyfriend, and I swear I won't mess with you again like what happened on Saturday."

"Dude… you don't even know me. Why does it matter?" I ground my teeth into my lower lip in frustration.

"Honestly… I'm not certain." He smiled suddenly. "I just really like being around you."

I had avoided looking at him too closely. It was difficult to think or even breathe when faced with his mischievous green eyes. Oh, fuck, I should have kept my gaze averted. He was motherfucking perfect – the way his full lips half grinned at me while his strong jaw flexed.

"Thirsty?" he asked suddenly, and I shook my head. He dipped his hand into his bag and withdrew a bottle of orange juice. "Are you sure? You kind of look like you're going to pass out."

"I'm fine," I huffed, kicking my foot against the bench. "Ow."

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a rather annoyingly sexy manner. "More for me," he shrugged and tipped the bottle back against those full lips I'd been coveting. He took long swallows, his Adam's apple waggling hypnotically. A tiny orange drop escaped and dripped down his chin. Fuck… I wanted to lick it off.

"I changed my mind," I said suddenly. "I'm thirsty."

He cocked his eyebrow and wiped his chin. The truth was, I wanted to kiss him, but since I couldn't, I'd have to settle for lip contact by proxy of the bottle. He passed the juice to me, and I wrapped my mouth around the bottle, taking slow, calculated sips. Since I seemed to have his attention, I licked the rim.

"Fuck." Edward's eyes were glazed over.

"What?" I asked innocently, and took enough of the neck back into my mouth to be considered vulgar.

"I've never wanted to be orange juice so badly in my life."

He wasn't getting his juice back. I watched him pocket the cap, and for the life of me, I didn't understand why.


	11. Weight

Facebook Status: my psychiatrist gave me pink elephant juice today.

I hated him.

Oh, how I fucking hated him. _Let me count the ways..._

I hated his beautiful hair, soulful eyes, and perfect fucking jaw line. I hated that he knew I secretly coveted him. I hated the expression on his face - the way he arranged his mouth as if my proximity caused him physical pain.

The grey jacket he wore (which I really fucking hated) was tailored to fit his lean muscles perfectly. The fabric was probably soft... like an octogenarian's cock. Not really. More like Egyptian cotton. Fuck, I needed to touch... no. I didn't. I hated him.

All the same, I could feel my fingers stretching towards him, betraying my bitter resolve by reaching for his sleeve. My mind was numb, but my body was alive and electric. I touched his cuff and was met with his sorrowful grunt.

This situation was ridiculous. Honestly, if I stepped outside myself and took on an omniscient perspective, this is what I would have seen: an utterly plain girl and a brooding heartthrob torturing each other with long, withering glares.

Fuck me if Forks High wasn't _The Vampire Diaries_.

"Bella," Edward whispered pathetically. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say more but took a swipe at his lower lip with his tongue rather than offering me words.

His mouth was lush and pink, and did I mention how I hated it?

Was he suffering? What right did he have to be hurting? _I_ was the one who was hurting. I was hurting because I hated him.

But he was suffering for some unknown reason, and I couldn't hold onto my hatred. The bastard! I wanted to comfort him.

So I hated him all over again because he was denying me my hatred.

"I'm in hell," he muttered. His elegant hands and long fingers clutched the table we shared as if he was in profound anguish, and I really hated them too. I tossed my hair back, and he groaned.

"What the fuck?" I hissed. Why the need for all this melodrama? Only moments ago I was rimming an orange juice bottle, and now everything was suddenly emo but not in a cool arthouse/Japanese anime kind of way.

"Nothing," he mumbled, leaning away from me and scowling. Did I smell bad?

"You're acting strange," I pointed out. "Also, I really hate you," I added because it had to be said.

"Yeah... I guess I had that one coming."

He ran out of biology class as soon as the bell rang, and while I enjoyed the view of his ass, it occurred to me I'd just told him I hated him.

"Edward, wait up!" Lauren called and launched herself after him.

I hated Lauren too.

By the time I got home, my stomach felt like it had digested itself in some sort of perverse act of autocannibalism. I ate nearly an entire box of Rice Crispies in an effort to fill the nauseated void in my belly. I did my best not to relive the day's events as I licked cereal dust off my fingers and attempted to text Jake again. Where the fuck was he? I needed to go through the day's events and bitch to a sympathetic ear. Also, I needed a cuddle; I needed to curl up inside of him and disappear.

But several texts to my only lifeline proved to be fruitless. I didn't want to be paranoid, but something felt decidedly off. Jake never ignored me.

With my hunger abated, other impulses such as my teenage hormonal lust and psychotic paranoia made themselves known.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I sang Marvin Gaye a little to romance myself. Little extravagancies such as a serenade before I finger banged my sex-starved girly bits were important. If I couldn't respect myself, I mean, who could?

Not that I did... respect myself, that is.

I totally didn't.

But fuck if I wasn't horny as a hound dog from Edward and the orange juice bottle.

Before I could commence the bean flickage, there was the little matter of psychotic paranoia to attend to. I grabbed my beautiful new iPad from my dresser and opened my Tweetdeck:

_SPlathisDead: Spanking the monkey. Where's (at)jblack180? I could use a hand..._

Needless to say, my phone started vibrating a few seconds later. My voicemails and innocent text messages didn't warrant a call back; however, a dirty tweet sure coaxed a reply out of my boyfriend, the asshole.

"Bella?"

Yeah, I really hated Jake too.

"You sound weird," I bitched into my phone. I was irritated. This, coupled with my need for a release, made me bolder than usual.

"Weird how?" Jake asked with casual disinterest. Oh my god, boys fucking sucked so much! Even the good ones. Whatever... I knew how to get his attention.

"I'm taking my pants off." Actually, I wasn't wearing any pants at all, but removing clothes sounded more seductive than random nudity.

"Shit, Bella. Embry will be here any second-"

"Shut the fuck up, asshat. I've had the day from hell. I want to come." I unbuttoned my shirt and flipped my bra up. "Want to see my tits? I'll email you a pic."

"Shiiiit," I heard him groan lightly into the phone. "I'm sporting wood now."

"Jake," I whispered while pinching my nipples lustfully, "have you ever gone down on a girl?"

"Yeah... once." He sounded really guilty.

"It's okay, Jake. I didn't expect you to be completely innocent." For some reason, the idea that he'd licked clam before made me unbelievably wet. I mean, if he'd done it once, maybe he'd do it again. "I was just checking to see if it's something you liked... and maybe would do to me?"

"Oh, fuck..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yeah, Bell. I'd eat you in a second."

Good fucking answer.

"I'd let you. In fact, I want your tongue in my pussy right now," I moaned into the phone and clutched my pillow between my thighs. "Touch your dick for me," I demanded.

"Bells... I can't. Shit, I want to, but I have to get to tribal council."

"Lame," I muttered and tossed the pillow on the floor, no longer feeling amorous. His reticence to join me left me with a sobering feeling of shame.

-({})-

Edward didn't show up on the second day of school. Who the fuck skipped school in the first week?

Edward _fucking_ Cullen did, because nothing about him was status quo.

The rest of the day progressed as if I was walking around in a fugue state. The air was oppressive in the tiny classrooms, but it didn't really matter. I didn't feel like an inhabitant of my own body, which must have been evident to the other students as they didn't even try to approach me… not even to ridicule me.

This made me feel mildly vindicated.

Rather than my mind becoming unhinged, I imagined that my soul had taken flight from my body. I was made of air and light and thought. This pile of flesh and bone was of no consequence whatsoever.

Also, I liked the idea of being a ghost, but ghosts were comprised of spirit, not heavy despair. Why was everything so heavy?

Only one person dared to speak to me at the end of the day in the parking lot, but that was okay; she was a ghost too. Her speech was wordless at first, an annoying monotonous buzz in my ear. She darkened the space in front of me and refused to move.

"What?" I demanded rudely.

"Do you have a monopoly on flannel plaid?" She was so morose. Yes, my assessment certainly was the pot calling the kettle emo, but she really was the personification of Winona Ryder, circa 1988.

"Totally," I said dully and then added for effect, "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!"

"Whatever," she grumbled, and I sucked in a shocked breath when I took notice of her face. "This was stupid." She jogged away from me without saying another word.

Except now I was painfully curious about her. First of all, there was her hair – the obsidian tresses with paradoxically blonde roots. It was so counter-intuitive I wasn't sure what to make of it… but also there was her face. It was possibly the most beautiful face I'd ever seen, despite every effort she made to make herself unappealing with heavy black liner and white pancake.

-({})-

Jake wasn't answering my fucking texts. I shifted uncomfortably in Dr. Banner's horrid vinyl chair and glared openly at him as he unscrewed the cap off something shiny.

"Would you please put your cell phone away?"

"Never."

"Would you do it for a Klondike bar?"

I giggle-scowled, and he passed me a silver flask with a ridiculous pink elephant on it. "Take a swig," he said, smiling encouragingly.

"You do realize I'm underage, right?" I asked, taking the flask cautiously. "What's in here?"

"Try it," he encouraged almost playfully.

What could I say? I liked to live dangerously. Despite Dr. Banner's benevolent smile, I suspected he was concocting a terrible plan. Not evil, per se, just something underhanded.

"It'll take a little more than cheap booze to get me to reveal my tender underbelly to you." Nevertheless, I tipped the liquid back into my mouth. It was sweet and tangy, with none of the burn or mind-numbing balm of alcohol at all. "What the fuck?"

"What?"

"That's not booze," I protested.

"Of course not! You're underage, and I'm your therapist. What kind of quack do you think I am?"

"I dunno… the Robin Williams, _Dead Poet Society_ kind? The kind that makes me stand up on chairs while reciting poetry, O Captain! My Captain!"

"I'm not Robin Williams. First of all, I'm not part-sasquatch... also, I don't think that movie is a good reference point. There was a suicide scene."

"Oh, I forgot about that part... nah, I already got naked and tried to take my own life... seems sort of passé now."

"What do you feel like talking about today?" He was changing the subject. Good idea.

"Do you want me to tell you about my dreams? I can't even articulate them anymore, Dr. Banner." And I couldn't. My dreams, like my life, were like a slow asphyxiation. Everything was muffled, and I never seemed to be able to draw the right amount of air into my lungs.

"Why? Are they important?"

"Probably. Can't you map them? Make sense out of the chaos like an astronomer finding order in the stars?" That was really poetic. He was sure to be impressed.

"Stop evading. I think you've had too much Elephant Juice."

"It's Kool-Aid," I protested, but he grabbed the flask out of my hand.

"Want a smoke?"

"Um… no?"

"Your loss." He pulled a box of Wonderbars out of his desk and opened the top, revealing cigars rather than chocolate. "They're robusto."

"You can't smoke in here!"

"Why not?" He unwrapped the Corona and bit the tip.

"It's, like, illegal and stuff…"

"What stuff?" He unearthed a Zippo from his pocket and flipped the top, igniting the flint.

"And… highly unexpected and unprofessional."

"So, no to the cigar?"

"No… thanks." I had to admit I was all kinds of curious.

"Have you ever had one?"

"A cigar?"

"Yes. Have you ever smoked a cigar?"

"I'm a cigar virgin," I admitted, and he raised his eyebrows in effective mockery. "What?"

"A virgin, you say?" He placed the cigar down on the table, and I grabbed the fucker and lit the tip before he could utter another word.

"Only where cigars are concerned!" A terrible image of Monica Lewinsky and Clinton and the oral orifice invaded my mind. Ew. "And don't get all Freudian on me!"

"I thought you liked Freud?"

"Yeah, well… sometimes a cigar is just a fucking cigar." I took a hefty pull and bravely inhaled a cloud of delicious tasting smoke. Instantly, I was convulsing and hacking, tears pouring out my eyes as I tried to expel the fire out of my lungs.

"You're not supposed to inhale," he said mildly.

"In my dreams I can't breathe," I said suddenly. "I can't speak or move."

"Are you drowning?"

"Not in water. I'm drowning in need. I'm drowning in indecision and loneliness and loathing but not in water…"

"I'm afraid I don't understand. Could you be a little less abstract?"

No. I couldn't speak plainly. I could only offer him poetry. "There's a heavy weight lying on top of me. He won't let me go."

"What's his name?"

"Phil," I confessed.

"Who is he?"

"My mother's husband."

"Did he hurt you?"

"He does… hurt me. Every day. It never stops - this weight on me. I can't breathe. I want to breathe."

"Tell me what happened?"

"I can't." I shook my head and smiled coolly. "Will you teach me to smoke a cigar?"

"I'm sorry, Bella. You can't smoke a metaphor."

Scowling, I jumped up suddenly and wrapped my sweater about my shoulders, not bothering to put it on properly. "A metaphor for what?"

"Your innocence."

I snorted and kicked one of his cheap-ass chairs. "I have none."

"Children don't know how to smoke cigars. Adults do," he said simply.

"What does that have to do with anything?" I raged and plucked the cigar out of his hand. "Watch my innocence go up in smoke." My laughter sounded manic even to me, and I wrapped my mouth around the crudely-cut tip.

"What if a cigar isn't just a cigar?"

It was difficult but not impossible to pull the cloud over my tongue and hold it just shy of my windpipe. The sensation was sweet and slightly unpleasant at the same time because every instinct inside of me demanded I inhale.

My instincts were always backwards.

"What is it then?" I asked, exhaling a clumsy donut.

"The cigar is Phil's dick," he deadpanned in the same moment I brought it back to my puckered lips.

It dropped from my hand, landing cherry-side-down on the carpet. The synthetic fibers ignited and disintegrated, still, I couldn't muster a reaction of any kind.

The smell hit me, all noxious and suffocating, and the stench of melted plastic spurred Dr. Banner into action. He swiftly doused the fire with whatever was in the elephant flask, and the flame transformed into a sickly sweet smoke as it fizzled.

I was going to faint.

I opened my mouth to scream, but my throat strangled off the sound. The pressure crushing my chest now settled in my larynx.

"You're going to be okay, Bella," he said calmly.

I shook my head. I wasn't. He had no fucking idea.

Dr. Banner placed a tentative hand on my shoulder. When I didn't cringe away, he rubbed my back in a fatherly way. "What can I get you?"

"I want my mother," I whispered, even though the request was ridiculous. Suddenly, I was a child.


	12. Sparks

Facebook Status: Updating from the bathroom. I'm in Hell.

Hunter S. Thompson said, "You can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug, especially when it's waving a razor sharp hunting knife in your eye."

So fucking true. Not that I was defending my behaviour; I just needed to set the scene properly.

I realized the third day of school held no promise as I loitered in the parking lot. I lounged in my truck with my head flat against the window and my legs draped over the dusty armrest thinking about misery. With a crudely-rolled joint pursed between my lips, I took a deep drag and did my best to hold the smoke in my lungs before coughing. The air around me smelled noxious yet sweet.

Was this the American dream? Hunter S. never found it before blowing his brains out; I doubted if I would. Or maybe he did find it after all. Fucking crazy, man. What if he found the American Dream and killed himself out of sheer disappointment?

It made sense... just like I always said: Courtney didn't kill Kurt - disillusionment did.

So, my drugged-out, nihilist thought for the day was - don't look for happiness. _I've looked into the heart of darkness of man and found sunlight._

Holy fuck, this pot was good!

I'd earned this - a day of disgusting self-pity and juvenile indulgence - and I refused to feel guilty about partaking in something as benign as pot. If I'd had my druthers, I'd be balls deep in retro acid, like my hipster heroes from the days of psychedelic yore. My druthers were nowhere to be found, though. Neither was Jake.

I jumped out my truck and kicked the door shut, but it swung back open petulantly, whining on its hinges.

"Need some help?" a familiar shock of blond hair inquired.

"Yeah, are you mafia? Because I'd like to order a hit on my stupid truck." I couldn't focus my eyes beyond the floaters. Light seemed to refract into its component colours through my pupils, and I couldn't control the rate of my speech. Speaking was entirely too distracting anyway. Why should words matter when I could communicate in colour?

There was a tiny cut on my hand that itched, and I scratched it, marvelling at how even the wound bled rainbows.

"Bella?" The hair was still speaking.

"Are you under that crazy hair, Jasper? I can't quite see you."

"I'm here," he confirmed and took my hand away from my face. Not fair! I wanted to see the colours bounce. He laced his fingers through my own and stared at our entwined hands.

"Do you see the colours too?" Maybe he was high. He certainly had the hair for it.

"Sadly, no. I bet they're mighty pretty."

"Yep. Lovely as the day is shitty. What about a gun, cowboy? Do you have a gun?"

"I'm sorry, baby... I don't." Like Edward, Jasper had a crooked grin, but rather than making me horny, I found his smile oddly soothing.

"I thought you were Southern." I pouted, trying to reclaim my fingers, but he only squeezed harder. "All Southerners have guns, yes?

"I'm Texan, ma'am." He smiled widely. "But I'm lacking in the shotgun and hound dog department, though."

"Hm, well, I promise not to hold it against you." I tugged my hand out of his grasp and asked, "Do you party, Jasper?"

"Define party?" He frowned, so I evaded.

"I don't want to go to first period," I blathered. "I found out the book I'm studying for my independent lit project has been banned in this stupid town." _Fear and Loathing in Las_ _Vegas_ was not deemed suitable for study due to its glorification of drug use. Literature didn't glorify drug use - being high did.

"What do you want to do?"

"I'm looking for a very specific kind of drug, but it seems to have fallen out of fashion with today's youth."

"You are today's youth." He smiled like a simpleton and asked, "Are you on Ecstasy?"

And just as soon as I'd decided to like him, the feelings dissolved. His stupidity — or rather, unadulterated ignorance — was deplorable. As if I'd drop E!

"You are of no use to me," I said simply. "I believe I've misjudged you. My apologies for wasting your time."

"Alice says you're a psycho," he said suddenly. "I didn't believe her, but-"

"But you do now." We were finishing each other's sentences. How fucking sweet. "I'm not psycho; I'm high. I thought you were kind and hoped you were clever, but you're just Alice's little lap dog." I chewed on my lip, disliking the way it felt dry and sticky at the same time against my teeth. "I think maybe I hate you a little," I confessed.

"Well, shit." He raked his hands through his hair as if he was trying to pull it out at the roots. "Why the hostility?"

"I guess I just don't trust you."

"Because of Alice?"

"Because you have a cock," I clarified. "Look… I'm sorry, alright? I'm not sure why I snapped at you, other than the fact you got in my way on a particularly crappy day."

"Want to talk about it?" A frigid blast of air made me take notice of his windbreaker. His straggly, blond hair whipped around his face as the wind shifted suddenly, blowing ice water from the ocean. He pulled the hood over his head and put an arm around me, rubbing my soaked shoulders. I didn't take much of my stuff when I moved to Forks, and I missed my orange rain jacket. Would I ever see it again?

"No. I really don't. I think I'll just go home." But I couldn't. It was only the third day of school. I glanced in the direction of my truck wistfully.

"Wait… stay?" His voice was rough, cracking slightly.

"Jasper, you're not, like, full of feelings for me or some shit, are you?" Because he kind of looked smitten. Apparently, the sick bastard got off on emo-suicide chic.

"Nah." He looked down at his feet but didn't take his hands off me. "Do you want to make out?"

"Not even a little bit," I said honestly.

"It would really piss off Alice." He hunkered down to kiss me, and I blocked his affections by twisting his nipple hard enough to bruise him... even through his jacket. "What the hell?"

"Purple nurple." I shrugged. "I'm not making out with you. Try that again, and I'll nurple your nut sack."

-({})-

Lunch in Hell. I imagined Hunter S. Thomson ushering me through the sulphuric halls of Forks High, like Virgil to Dante. The lunchroom was the ninth circle.

_Hyperbole is me._

Throngs of people, cruel and ripe with hormonal lust and rage, waited in the lunch line like a collective, pulsating phallus. The air was so thick with sex I had to plug my nose for fear of spontaneous impregnation.

Edward was sitting with Lauren today. That clinched it. There was no way I could sit in this room without having some sort of breakdown.

Instead of eating lunch, I decided to run to the bathroom to vomit. Not really. I mean, I tried, but I only dry-heaved.

At least there was safety in stalls.

I comforted myself with the thought that at least the day couldn't get any worse. I sat on the toilet and texted Jake, trying to ignore the sobs coming from the cubicle adjacent to me.

"Oh my fuck, could you please shut up? I'm trying to have a psychotic episode in here." I peered under the stall and saw army boots. "Who are you?"

"Jasper's sister," the voice snuffled. "And I have what you need," she said, passing me a sheet of paper under the partition.

"Holy fuck!"

"Yeah," she said with a slight tremble in her voice. "Don't take more than one hit at a time. It's clinical grade."

"How much do I owe you?"

She actually laughed but never replied.

-({})-

Finally, I had crossed the line from mildly neurotic to psycho, stalking girlfriend. What the fuck else was I supposed to do though? Jake hardly even responding to my tweets, and when he did, he used his 140 characters to be as cryptic and uncaring as possible. Something was definitely rotten in the state of Washington, and it wasn't just the putrid fish.

This just wasn't like him. In truth, I was afraid.

"Jake!" I yelled, banging on the window of his room. There was no answer at the front door, so I thought that maybe he was taking a nap. "C'mon, Jake. Where are you?" My voice was a sad little wail, barely audible even to myself over the howling wind. I couldn't see through the yellowing curtains, but for some reason, I was sure the room was empty.

I stood up and looked down the road towards the shoreline. The ocean was a tempest. This pathetic fallacy did not bode well for me.

Where the fuck was he? His car was parked in the driveway, for fuck's sake. I ran across the loose gravel road the Black house was situated near and down to the beach. There was no sand on the shore this far south. The ocean lapped against mud, which gave way to broken rock. Kneeling down on a boulder, I whipped my head around to survey the expanse of beach.

From the driftwood to the beached fish, picked-clean by scavenger birds that stalked the shore, everything around me was dead and decaying. This was another ominous portent; I was certain of it. My life was suddenly a T.S. Eliot poem.

I was alone. Why did I keep coming here? "Jake!" I yelled fruitlessly, not really expecting any kind of reply, but voices echoed down the rock face of the cliffs. Jake said the boys liked to cliff dive, and I could see what looked like four boys goofing off; pretending to jump on the top of the highest rock.

Were they actually going to do it today? That was tragically stupid.

"Embry!" I yelled, because, really, who else would be dumb enough to contemplate cliff-diving in this weather? My voice didn't carry over the sound of the ocean.

I tapped the password into my phone to unlock it, about to text Jake to let him know I was here, but then thought better of it. My instincts were guiding me now. At full throttle, I ran away from the ocean and back up the gravel road, somehow managing not to slip and die.

Luck was not on my side.

Dying would have hurt less.

"Jake-" His name caught in my throat. I wasn't sure what I'd expected to find, but it wasn't this.

"Is your dad home yet?" a girl asked, following Jake out of the garage.

Somehow I had missed them when I'd stalked the house. Were they hanging out in the garage this whole time? What were they doing in there?

"C'mon." He tugged her away from the dilapidated structure that housed Billy's old cars. Why was he pulling her by the arm? Maybe he wanted to take her to his room.

"Your dad," she protested.

Jake caught her hand in his and smiled, looking down into her eyes. While they weren't kissing, there was an intimacy between them I'd never have a hope in hell of ever knowing with another human being. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and she lowered her face shyly.

"It's cold," Jake said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She rested her delicately beautiful face against his chest, turning and looking curiously at me.

I was only a phantom. She couldn't possibly have seen me.

"We should head to the house."

"Jake," the girl said, motioning to me.

I wasn't here.

"Bells!" Jake dropped the girl's hand but didn't say another word.

"I'm not really here. I died. I'm not real."

It made sense now. I'd been dead all along. This was Hell.

I grappled in my pocket for a lighter and walked away from them.

"Bella, wait!"

He didn't follow me. If he had, he would've stopped me.

It took exactly thirty-five seconds for the Volkswagen Rabbit to ignite. It would've taken me less time if I'd started at the gas tank in the first place.


	13. Another Pound of Flesh

Facebook Status: Attention Jacob Black - I just mouth-fucked your hometown hero.

"Jesus Christ, Bella. What the fuck am I supposed to tell your mother?" Charlie raged, pounding his fist against the concrete block wall.

"I'm sorry," I managed weakly, sitting on a cold bench in Forks County Jail. Everything smelled like fire - my hair, my clothes, even my skin was covered in ash. I thought fire was supposed to be cleansing. It wasn't. I felt as if the stench of burning metal would never be off of me. _Out, out, damn spot!_ This burn on my wrist was another battle scar I'd earned today. My hands would never be clean.

"How could... I don't understand... what the fuck were you thinking?"

"Jake was with another girl," I answered honestly, because really, what other choice did I have? "He broke my heart, so I destroyed his - an eye for an eye, and all that jazz."

"Well, shit. No wonder he doesn't want to press charges. He was caught with his pants down, was he?"

"What? No! He wasn't fucking her!" My father winced at my use of the expletive.

"So how do you know he was cheating on you?" he asked, removing a heavy key chain off his belt.

"I could tell by the way he was touching her... the way he looked at her. A girl just knows. I mean, how did you know Mom was cheating on you with Phil?"

"I found them fucking in my bed."

"Oh. Ew."

"Yeah," Dad agreed. "Double ew." He unlocked the cell door and sat beside me on the bench. "Did you give the boy a chance to explain himself before you set the yard on fire?"

"I only meant to set the car on fire."

"I know, Bells. Fire spreads though. There's no grass left on the yard now." He rubbed soot and tears off my cheek and pulled a Kleenex out of his pocket so I could blow my nose. I hadn't even realized I'd been crying.

"Well, the lawn shouldn't have gotten in the way," I snuffled petulantly. "So, if Jake's not pressing charges, am I free to leave?"

"Not exactly... there are criminal charges to contend with too. Plus, I'm still waiting to hear from Billy."

"Oh, shit, Dad. I'm sorry. I wasn't even thinking about Billy." He and Dad had been friends forever. What the fuck was I thinking?

Oh, right: revenge. They say the best revenge is living well. That's bullshit. The best revenge is a bullet between the eyes.

"Dad," I said tentatively. "I'm really sorry about this. You're not going to, um..."

He looked at me expectantly when I didn't finish my sentence. "I'm not going to?"

"Send me back?"

"Do you want to go back home?" he asked carefully.

Perspective is an interesting phenomenon. Looking at my life from ten-thousand feet in the air, I knew I'd never go back to being the girl I used to be.

"My home is where you are, Dad."

-({})-

Oh my god, so orange totally wasn't my colour.

I was picking up garbage on the highway in another unseasonable ice storm. Apparently, probation was a dish best served cold. I didn't mind the work so much; it was the humiliation of the other kids knowing about what happened that got to me.

It didn't even take a full two days for the news to spread, pardon the expression, like wildfire throughout the student body of Forks High.

Alice had driven by twice already, snapping pictures of me in my government-issue orange smock and slicker. Why the fuck did we have to wear orange like federal inmates? Jeez, I was only doing a few dozen hours of measly public service. By the way the cars slowed to look at us, you'd think I had "24601" emblazoned across my back.

"Can I have my phone back?" I asked at the end of my shift. The guard on duty was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't remember his name. He nodded, giving me a look I didn't understand, and passed me my cell.

I punched in my passcode and sat on the side of the highway, waiting for my dad to pick me up. My hated truck was on blocks, and my license had been confiscated because setting fire to a car meant I could no longer be trusted by Washington State to drive one. That was stupid logic, if you asked me. But no one was asking me my opinion on much since I torched the Rabbit.

"You okay?" the guard asked, and I nodded distractedly. There were messages on my phone from Jake: five voicemails, two texts, and twelve emails. I deleted them quickly and opened my Tweetdeck to check my mentions.

The Fail Whale could have been a field of crickets for all it mattered. Without Jake, I was essentially tweeting myself. I'd blocked him.

My friends back home had all but forgotten me already. Nice.

I toyed with the idea of texting Edward, but I was far too self-destructive at the moment to trust my fingers. Instead, I pulled a smoke out of my purse and stared at it, trying to remember what I was supposed to do next. I must have misplaced my lighter while committing arson.

"Bella?" The guard knelt down beside me and lit my smoke.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember me?"

"Sort of... are you a friend of Charlie's?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, lighting a cigarette of his own. "And Billy's. My name's Sam."

"Right. Hey, Sam." I had a vague memory of him from my summers in Forks. Dad and Billy would buy bait from him and some of the other teenagers on the rez. I remembered Jake and his friends pathetically tried to emulate him like little whelps.

"So, Jake is kind of going ballistic," he mentioned absently, taking a drag off his cigarette.

"Shut the fuck up. Jake's an asshole." I watched the paper ignite in a slow burn, becoming randomly entranced by the sparks as they curled into ash. Shit, maybe I was becoming a pyromaniac.

"Bella, you gotta give the guy a chance to explain himself. The kid's torn up over what happened."

"I didn't realize you guys were friends," I said bitterly.

"Yeah, well... I watch out for the younger guys."

"How old are you, Sam?" I asked suddenly, remembering him being so much older than Jake and I when we were kids.

"Twenty-one," he said proudly.

"Can you give me a ride home? I think Charlie forgot about me," I lied, taking a closer look at his body. Something ugly and bitter twisted in my gut as I examined the zipper of his jeans and the way the fly strained at the crotch as he shifted on the curb.

"Well, sure." He offered me his hand, and we both stood up. His truck was parked a few feet away, but as I walked slowly, concocting a most terrible plan, the distance felt like miles.

"So why exactly are you championing him? He cheated on me, and I blew up his car. End of story." Sam unlocked the truck with his remote, and the door separated from the chassis easily when I opened it. Instantly, I was jealous of his non-rusted vehicle. Then again, some of us didn't have any wheels to speak of.

"Bella, despite what you did to his car, he cares about you a lot."

"How do you know?"

"He's been pumping me for information on you ever since I told him you were on my refuse shift," he explained, wrenching the gearshift into reverse.

"Great," I mumbled, feeling hot tears prick at my eyes. I steeled myself against a breakdown, taking deep breaths and counting by twos. It was an exercise Dr. Banner had taught me to distract myself during a panic attack.

"He only wants to talk to you, Bella. You owe him that." I noticed he was getting on the 101 South, and I panicked.

"What the fuck, Sam? Where are you taking me?"

"La Push," he said.

"You're kidnapping me?"

"I'm not!" He had the audacity to look offended. I tried to grab the wheel, but he removed my hand easily and held it in his. "Calm down, okay? Just let him explain himself..."

"Pull over, Sam. I need to tell you something very serious."

"Tell me while I'm driving."

"I can't," I said and promptly burst into tears.

"Aw, shit, Bella. Please don't cry?" He patted my shoulder awkwardly. "We're almost there. Jake's not mad at you. Hell, Billy's not even that pissed off."

"P-Please... it's not about Jake." I hiccupped through my tears and kept pleading until Sam relented. He threw a hurried glance at me, checked his blind spot, and carefully veered off onto the soft shoulder.

When the parking brake was finally up, he turned to me and asked, "What's so serious?"

I wiped the tears out of my eyes and undid my seatbelt. "How long has it been since you got laid?" My voice was no longer shaking as I asked this. "I mean, really fucked, Sam, by a sweet, tight pussy."

"W-What?" he stuttered.

"I'm going to fuck you," I explained, reaching over him to pull the lever adjacent to his seat. The chair reclined back, and he let out a surprised grunt.

"No," he said weakly. "What? No..."

"Why not?" I asked, placing my hand on his firm thigh. His quad flexed automatically under my touch. "Don't you want to fuck me?"

"No," he said quickly.

"Really? Because your dick seems to like me." My hand skittered up his leg and rested on his warm bulge.

"Don't," he said but made no move to push me away.

"Don't? Why not?" I rubbed him through his jeans and leaned forward so I could lift the hem of his shirt with my teeth.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned. I licked the line of his navel, stopping at the button of his fly.

"Should I stop?"

"Yes... no... I don't know."

I took that as an invitation into his pants but asked again, "So, you don't want a blowjob, then?"

"Oh, fuck. Bella, I don't think..."

"Yeah, don't think. Just feel," I encouraged him, but I was talking to myself too. "Can I suck your cock? I think it'll make me feel better." I really, really wanted to, but for the life of me, I didn't understand why.

"How old are you?" he asked, cupping the back of my head in his palm.

"Eighteen," I assured him, even though technically my birthday wasn't for another few days.

"Alright."

"Alright, what?" I breathed against his stomach, watching his abs ripple reflexively.

"Suck my cock... please. I mean, if you want to." There was a strange mix of desperation and indecision in his voice. His eyes were huge, begging me to continue and pleading with me to stop all at once.

Desire won over morality as he urged my head down, holding it in place at his fly as if he wasn't sure what to do next. Instinct took over. In a sudden flurry of activity, I lowered his zipper while he lifted his hips off the seat and shimmied his pants down. His dick strained against his underwear, and there was a wet spot on the material I rubbed my thumb over lightly. I was rewarded with a throaty moan, and I dipped my head down flat against his crotch to kiss his tip as it popped through the slit in his boxers.

"Shit... oh, fuck... please suck me?" he begged, lowering his hand from my head to my breast.

A strangled moan tore through me. I parted my lips and sucked on the head of his cock for a moment before drawing him further over my tongue and tightening my lips. When I felt him at my throat, I drew back up along his shaft, sucking and licking while he throbbed in my mouth. He left one hand on my tit, tangling the other into my hair, urging me back down and up, and down again. It seemed he wanted to set a faster pace than I had initiated.

 _Eager beaver_ , I smirked to myself and fisted the base of his cock. He bucked and swore, and I cried out, cupping his balls with my free hand.

"Bella... slow down, sweetheart. I'm gonna come." He tried to hold my head in place, but I ignored him, pumping my hand furiously up his shaft while sucking on his cockhead. His balls became tight under my fingers, and I quickly moved my face away, helping him ride out his ejaculation with my hand.

"Fuck," he wheezed out and squeezed his eyes shut. There was so much jizz. _Wow, he must not whack off a lot_ , I mused, pumping him a few more times.

"All done?" I asked, wiping my hands off on his pants. He nodded in response, and I crawled back into my seat.

We were both silent for several minutes before he finally spoke.

"Do you want me to make you come?" he asked awkwardly. "I could go down on you if you want."

"I don't come," I snapped.

"Oh." He looked ahead and fidgeted, as if uncertain of what to do next.

"I think I'm going to call a friend to pick me up."

"I'll take you home," he said miserably. "I'm so sorry, Bella. I- I took advantage of you."

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up. You didn't." I grabbed my phone and unlocked it. "I took advantage of you."

"You're so hurt by Jake... I shouldn't have let you-"

"You were a goner, Sam, as soon as I figured out who you were."

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Exacting my pound of flesh."

The car was ashes, but it didn't feel like enough. An eye for an eye was great in theory, but what was I supposed to do when my soul was destroyed. What body part could I take in trade?

"I don't understand."

"Yeah, that's because I'm being cryptic. Thanks for the ride, but this is where I get off." A hot thrill shot through me, as if my misery was brought to orgasm.

"Are you texting your father to pick you up?"

"No," I said smugly. "I'm updating my Facebook status."


	14. Dark Poetry

Facebook Status: None

I pressed my fingers into the underside of my desk and chewed so hard on my lower lip I drew blood. My phone was at home. My skin was crawling. This wasn't good.

I could deal with losing, well, everything, but I no longer remembered why a moratorium on wireless devices seemed like a good idea. What was I thinking?

The clock on the wall ceased keeping time; meanwhile, the gerbil on the exercise wheel in my mind stopped its fruitless running and glared at me accusingly.

 _To protect yourself and others from your sociopathic Facebook updates_ , the little fuzzy mind-rodent reminded me.

 _What do you know? You're just a rat-thingy. You eat your young and poop where you drink._ Except now I was totally arguing with a figment of my imagination.

Also, said figment had better common sense than me.

Also, _also_ , my conscience was a gerbil. That was just stupid.

I needed a fix. I needed to be jacked back into The Matrix.

"Bella?"

"What?" I answered automatically. Shit, it was a teacher speaking to me. "I mean, um, pardon me?"

"I was asking about your lit project. Have you chosen a book yet?"

"No," I snapped. "All of my choices seem to be on the burn-a-book list."

"Well, maybe if you'd open yourself up to some less controversial material," she said, probably trying to sound helpful but coming across as snarky.

"Fine. Choose something for me. I don't care." It occurred to me it honestly didn't matter. Why was I bothering with this shit? So long as she didn't make me read Austen or Dickens, I didn't care.

" _Pride and Prejudice_."

"Fuck, no!" I protested, and the class erupted into manic-sounding laughter.

Me and my dirty fucking mouth.

I ran out of class to find Jasper waiting for me outside, but I suspected he was just trying to make Alice jealous. It fucking worked. Her eyes practically bulged out of her head when she saw him drape his arm casually over my shoulder. It felt good there. I closed my eyes and leaned into him.

"Whoa," he said, bracing his leg to support my body as I all but melted into him. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah. I just totally feel like singing "Lean on Me" all the sudden."

"I'll be your friend. I'll help you carry on." He smiled, and his entire face lit up.

"Well, aren't you fucking clever." What I meant to say was, "Why are you following me around?"

"I'm not. I mean, well, yeah, I sort of am. I wanted to talk to you about my sister." He looked nervous. "Not now though."

"Um, okay. Why not?" I followed his eyes to his evil miniature ex-girlfriend.

"Slumming much?" Alice's laughed, the sound of it effectively silencing us both. "Bella's not the only one picking up trash in the gutter," she said to Lauren. Her voice had a manic quality to it; the timbre was brittle and sharp all at once. She was glass. I wanted to tell her she was glass, but she wouldn't understand me. Actually, I really wanted to push her over and watch her shatter like a figurine.

Only Jake understood my broken poetry-speak. But Jake was a funeral pyre.

"There's no need to act like a cunt," Jasper snapped. Wow. I didn't know he used such ugly language. It was hot, and I toyed with the idea of making him my bitch, but one revenge blow job was kind of my limit for the week.

-({})-

Solace was what I craved. I grabbed my lunch and took it outside to the nearly-deserted quad. It was a dank day - the kind of weather that only appealed to the morbidly depressed. _Fucking apt_ , I thought, pulling my peanut butter sandwich from my bag. I wasn't hungry. It was only a prop I held as I sat and looked longingly at Division Street, wishing I was in one of the passing cars, that I was anywhere but right here.

A motorcycle pulled up to the curb, and I gawked appreciatively at the leather-clad form that dismounted. He looked like Robocop - all shiny and dark and dangerous.

Except then he removed his helmet and hooked it onto the side of the seat, smoothing his hands over his newly shorn head.

One word tore out of me upon recognition of said head. "Traitor!"

It was a war-cry.

He knew he was under attack. He raised his hands in surrender, keeping them in the air as he took a step onto the curb.

"Fuck you!" I screamed and launched myself at him, tripping several times as I closed the distance between my bench and the curb. "Fuck you!"

I repeated it over and over again like a perverse mantra that, instead of calming me, fed my rage. I balled my hands into fists when I reached him, punching his chest, striking at every inch of muscle and flesh I could reach. "Fuck you," I repeated, opening my hands so I could slap him full on the face. The sound of my hand striking his skin barely echoed over my screams. He didn't try to ward me off. He kept his head bowed and suffered my pathetic blows, allowing me to hit him without complaint.

Damn it! Why didn't he fight back? There was no glory, no satisfaction, no justification, no revenge in this. I needed more! So I hit him harder each time and howled along with every blow. My broken heart raced as it stubbornly forced blood and adrenaline through my veins.

"Bells," he pleaded finally. "You're going to break your hand."

"Fuck you," I cursed lamely, my voice hoarse from screaming.

"Please? Let me talk to you for a minute."

"I'm going to burn your bike if you don't leave right now." It hurt too much, standing this close to him. It hurt to look at him. He was now the personification of my agony. It wasn't just that he didn't want me the way I wanted him. It was the betrayal. The asshole put me in a position that made it impossible to forgive him.

He was lost to me, and in losing him, I also relinquished the only solace I'd ever known.

The silence. I'd miss the silence so much - the way he could stop the terrible images from taking over my mind. I was raped by my own dark poetry on a daily basis, and no one but Jacob knew had to make it stop. Now I'd hit rock bottom. I was flat on my back in a deep well of despair, staring up at an endless night.

Overwhelmed by grief, I inadvertently started rambling.

"You pushed me down deeper into a grave of my own making, and I can't claw my way back. I'm stuck."

I'd never felt pain before like this.

Jake shook his head. "You don't understand... let me explain, and then I'll go away."

"There's nothing to explain. You were my lifeline, and now I'm interred in my own grief."

"You're not stuck, Bells. I'll help you out, I swear." It killed me that he understood my garbled metaphors. "I won't let you be stuck in the dark... no matter what."

"Ha! Throw me a rope, Jake, and I'll hang myself with it."

"Bells," Jake said, trying to pull me against him, but I bit his arm and he let go of me. "It's not what you think. I need to tell you what-"

"I'm not stupid," I hissed. "I know what you're going to tell me, and it's lame."

"You don't."

"Alright, Jake." I crossed my arms over my chest and allowed a bitter calm to come over me, slowing my rage. "Tell me about the imprint. Tell me about how you're a hypocrite just like your father. Leave me for this girl, and let me die."

Jake kicked his bike over. I'd gone too far, alluding to his mother.

"I came to tell you nothing happened with Leah," he said stiffly, his voice breaking. A bleak wave of emotion seemed to wash over him. I manged to pull him down to my level like a hell-bound undertow; the anguish was written all over his face.

"Clearly something happened." I hated him. I hated him so much for ruining this for me. I needed my revenge. How could I feel justified in his degradation when it hurt so fucking much to see him in pain?

"It didn't. I- well, I wanted something to happen, but I can fight this imprint thing, Bells. I swear. I'll stay away from her."

I wasn't expecting that. "What?" I asked dumbly. "What? But she's like your destiny or whatever. You can't just ignore her."

"Yeah, I can. All I have to do is stay away from her. I've already dropped out of this semester of school, and I'll transfer to Forks for the winter term." He smiled and wiped a tear out of my eye with his glove. "I'm so sorry, honey."

I looked at him incredulously. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" Why did he have to do this to me? This was kind of worse than him just being a horn-dog asshole. How was a psycho girl like me supposed to react to such chivalry?

"C'mon, Bells. I love you. I want to be with you."

"I'm fucking someone else now, Jake," I said quickly before I could stop myself. "So it doesn't matter." I took a step away from him and pulled my book bag over my shoulder. "Look... I'm really sorry about your car." A sob threatened to escape my throat. I swallowed thickly to stop it. "I'm just really mad and stuff... but I don't love you. Not like that."

"Just... stop lying. I know you're full of shit."

"No. I don't want you. I just want my revenge."

He kicked the side of his fallen bike and let loose a frustrated growl. "Do you have any idea what I'm giving up for you?" he raged.

"I don't want it. I don't want you."

"Don't do this..."

"Jake, if you really love me like you say you do, then leave me the fuck alone. Don't call me; don't email me. I never want to hear from you ever again. Do you understand?"

"You don't mean that," he hissed. "I'll leave, but I'm not giving up."

He would. I'd make sure of it.

-({})-

So, yeah. Totally not going to class after that. There needed to be some sort of melodrama pass for high school kids, like a hall pass or something. Too much sweat and hormones confined to one building made us all lust and rage-filled.

I was still in the quad where Jake left me. Time stood still, but hours had passed, and I was lying on the wet grass, scribbling poetry into my notepad.

The dim sky had brightened over the course of the afternoon, which just pissed me the fuck off because I hated when the weather didn't match my mood. I closed my eyes, still seeing red.

"Bella?"

"Present," I muttered, wiping the tears off my face with the sleeve of my shirt. I squinted, becoming momentarily blinded by Edward's hair. It was afire with the midday sun blaring through the coppery strands.

"You weren't in biology," he began tentatively.

"You're fucking Lauren," I replied.

"Um... not at the moment. How is that relevant?"

"I dunno. I thought we were both stating obvious facts. It doesn't matter though." I rolled onto my side and went fetal. "It's just that I can't imagine fucking random skanks is good for your recovery."

He sighed and sank into the grass beside me. "She's not a skank... but yeah, I'm not supposed to have sex."

"So don't. Just suck it up and do what you're supposed to do."

"Um, hello, pot? It's me, kettle."

"Oh, dude, I know I have problems. Why does it matter that I'm being hypocritical? It's still good advice. Keep your dick in your pants." Of course, now I was thinking about his dick and also wondering if his pubic hair was the same shade as the hair on his head. Would it be unruly too?

"What are you thinking about?" he asked suddenly.

"Sex hair." Wait, did he know that was my nickname for him? Actually, now it was my secret name for his pubes. Why was I thinking about his pubes?

"I want to show you something."

"Neat," I said. "If it's your cock, I'm not interested." I was totally lying.

"It's not my cock. Come with me... and don't say without foreplay."

"Okay. Want to jerk off together then?" I cocked my eyebrow, and he groaned.

"You're going to be the death of me, pretty girl." He offered me his hand, and I took it.

"I'll come with you, but you should probably know I'm feeling very self-destructive at the moment. I can't promise you I'll behave."

"Will you show me what you wrote?" He was evading me. Good for him.

"I don't think my bad poetry will be good for your recovery."

"Humour me."

So I handed him my notepad, and he had the decency not to read aloud.

_But what if I could scream until I bleed,_   
_To block out your words?_   
_Don't cry into my open wounds;_   
_Your salt burns inside of me,_   
_And my knees are rubbed raw_   
_From crawling._

He was silent for a minute. I snatched my paper back and considered touching my breasts out of sheer desperation to diffuse the situation. What had possessed me to share my writing, my very raw and ugly poetry, with him?

"Want me to beat him up for you?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Nah, I already took care of it."

"He didn't deserve you."

I laughed hysterically at that. "He certainly didn't."

Jake deserved better.

Like a child, I wiped the tears out of my eyes again with the sleeve of my shirt and allowed Edward to lead me to his car. I was throwing myself at his mercy.


	15. Dolly the Sheep and Edward's Confession

Facebook Status: I'm a magician. Watch me make two fingers disappear.

"Bella?"

My eyes wouldn't open. They felt glued shut, and I could hardly summon the will to care. When I didn't reply to the annoying voice, it poked me in the sternum. Who the fuck would bother a sleeping arsonist?

_Arsonist._

Oh shit, I would be typecast now unless I did something spectacular soon... like launder money or create a new breed of animal through aggressive gene-splicing. I'd hate to be considered a one-trick pony... or pony-poodle, should my research grant come through. You know, the one I never applied for. Although, I _was_ in advanced placement biology. I could totally start splicing stuff if I set my mind to it.

_Wait, who am I speaking to?_

"Um, Bella?" Another poke to the ribs.

"Wha?" I mumbled through my drool.

"You're babbling about committing arson and creating monkeys with four asses."

"Am not!" I huffed. "Oh, shit." I seemed to have fallen asleep in Edward's car. The minty scent of his air freshener mingled with his musky cologne and made for an interesting olfactory experience. "Where are we?" I asked, stretching my arms over my head and sneezing.

"Um, my house," he said sheepishly. Not like a sheep but rather an embarrassed human. My mind was still foggy and obsessed with cross-breeding or cloning animals. Like Dolly. Except I was pretty sure Dolly was a goat, not a sheep.

"Oh my god, shut up!" There was a chance I was freaking out.

"But... I haven't really said much," Edward protested, running his hands through his crazy hair to smooth it down. Huh. I didn't much like it flattened. I wanted it all sex-hairy.

"Not you; my inner monologue. It's just... not right." Edward smiled at me as I spoke, staring into my eyes with an almost terrifying intensity. "Um, why are you looking at me like that?"

"You mean, besides the obvious?" He took my hand in his and examined our entwined fingers. I glared in response, having no fucking clue what he meant by "the obvious."

 _Wait, I think Dolly_ was _a sheep._

"I'm trying to figure out what you're thinking. You were mumbling in your sleep... and the way you write. It's weird. It's like deciphering code."

"Right now I'm thinking about Dolly; you know, that sheep that was cloned. I thought maybe she was a goat, but I'm pretty sure she's a sheep. Also, it got me thinking... arson is kind of like that old saying about goat fucking."

"Ah, yes, that age old goat-fucking axiom."

I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. "You know that saying 'you paint one picture, and they don't call you a painter. But you fuck one goat and...' well, you know." I paused, taking stock of his bewildered expression.

"Go on," he said, almost breathlessly.

"Arson is the same way. I set fire to one car, and now everyone calls me 'that crazy bitch who set fire to her boyfriend's car.' It seems rather unfair. I've done lots of interesting stuff, but it doesn't matter. Arson will define me now." Then again, "arsonist" was certainly better than my previous moniker.

Whatever. I was having some sort of spastic episode rather than trying to charm the pants off Edward. Precious seconds were wasting away. I needed to practice the subtle art of seduction.

"So, you said something about showing me your cock?"

"Not my cock." He laughed. "But I've been dying to explain myself and show you... well, you should probably just come in."

"What if I asked really nicely? Would you show it to me?" I pressed.

"My cock, you mean?"

"Yeah-huh."

"Well, sure... I suppose. If you promise to only look but not touch."

"I think I could promise that," I lied. I was pretty sure I'd glom onto it upon first sight like sucker fish.

Suddenly, I couldn't get out of the car fast enough. I sought clumsily for the handle and kicked open the door, forgetting it wasn't my truck. "Aw shit, sorry," I said quickly as Edward winced.

"No dent, no foul." He took my hand and helped me out of the front seat like an otherworldly, sex-addicted gentleman. His hand felt so perfect holding mine that I forgot to be nervous. I closed my eyes for a second, relishing the feel of his skin on my own, even in such an innocent way. It was comforting.

"You okay?" he asked, and I realized I hadn't let go of his hand yet.

"Yeah," I replied to his sexy jaw, having lost the nerve to look him in the eye. He laughed lightly, dropping my hand, and I followed him up a pathway toward the house.

"Watch your step. Some of the trees have exposed roots."

What trees? My eyes were fixed on his high, firm ass. As far as I knew, we were surrounded by a herd of sheep eating baobabs.

-({})-

Edward's bedroom was really big, all dark leathers set against soft cream woods. It was opulent and clean... and terrible.

Too perfect.

"Um, where should I sit?" I eyed the bed suspiciously.

"Anywhere." He seemed distracted, kneeling down at his bedside table and opening the drawer.

"Are you sure this is really your room, or does it just play it on TV? I feel like I'm on the set of Big Brother or something."

He frowned. "Why are you insulting me?"

"Not you, dude - your room." I decided to sit on the leather couch. If I sat on the chair, he wouldn't be able to sit beside me and sitting on the bed just seemed too forward. Of course, I had mentioned I wanted to see his cock.

"I don't spend a lot of time in here."

"Oh, yeah? Where do you hang out?"

"Alice and I came back home last year." He was evading me. "We were in boarding school before that."

"Why did you come back?"

He grimaced. "We were expelled. Well, I was. Alice refused to stay if I didn't have to. Our other brother, Emmett, had graduated by then."

I waited for him to continue, but he didn't seem like he was going to explain any further. He pulled a notebook out of a meticulously organized drawer, setting it on the bed gingerly. He opened and closed the drawer three more times before exhaling a drawn-out, shaky breath. Was he nervous?

"Don't freak out, okay?" he pleaded.

"Um... what? Why?"

Wordlessly, he passed me a class photo and sat beside me. I narrowed my eyes at him questioningly, trying to decipher the significance of the picture. It took me about ten seconds of staring to realize I was in the picture.

"Why do you have this?" Nope, wasn't freaking out yet.

"Memories," he said simply, smiling wistfully.

"Yeah, but these are my memories."

"Mine too." He pointed to a small boy in the front row.

"You're telling me we were in first grade together?" I still wasn't freaking out... just confused.

"Yeah." He chuckled nervously. "I was pretty sure you didn't remember." He opened the notebook and handed it to me. "Read it," he said hoarsely.

It was a journal. Partly his, but mostly mine.

"I don't understand..." Okay, now I was freaking out a little. "You follow my blog? How do you even know who I am?" He'd printed out sections of my blog and pasted them into the notebook like a scrapbook.

"You were my first kiss," he said quickly.

"Bullshit." I'd never kissed him. I would have remembered something like that.

"Well, it was over eleven years ago." He smiled, and his face flushed, his jaw turning slightly redder than his cheeks.

"You've been following my blog for eleven years? Wait, I haven't been blogging for that long. I don't get it."

"Just this last year... don't freak out, okay? I'm not a creepy stalker."

"That remains to be seen. Do you sneak into my room at night and watch me while I sleep?" I was only sort of kidding.

"Just twice."

"Fuck you."

"Sorry! No, I'm kidding." The asshole was laughing, and I suddenly had the urge to punch him in the nuts, but I needed to find out what the fuck was up.

"You're looking at my therapy journal." He moved a little closer and flipped through a few pages. "Read this... it sort of explains everything."

_Banner asked me today if I think about anything other than pussy. Just like that, the guy uses the word "pussy," and I wonder if Dad knows the way his favourite therapist speaks to his patients. But it got me thinking about pussy, of course, since I never think about anything else anymore. I tell him I think about other things too, and I'm not really sure if I'm lying. He then asks me if I can think about a girl without thinking about fucking. I ask him if blow jobs count as fucking. He shrugs and says not according to Clinton, and I laugh because Clinton makes me think about having my dick sucked. Just like that, my cock is hard when I'm trying not to think about sex. So, yeah, I tell him I'm unable to think about oatmeal without thinking about pussy, let alone look at a girl and see her for anything beyond her twat. Well, then the asshole asks me about my mother, and I just about puke. No, I agree, I don't think about sex when I think about her... or my sister, thank fuck. Banner seems relieved. He asks me to look back and try to remember a girl, any girl I could think about in a "chaste" way. Sure, there's plenty of girls I don't want to fuck... ugly girls. He asks me about my first sexual experience, and I can't remember. He then asks me about my first kiss, which I'll never forget. Bella Swan, I tell him. We were six. She punched me in the arm for pulling her ponytail and then kissed me because I cried. She was so pretty, and she smelled like vanilla ice cream. What happened to her, he asks. She moved away at the end of first grade. He tells me to hold onto that feeling. The kiss. The smell of her hair. Hold onto it and remember what it felt like to be exhilarated by the simple pleasure of an innocent kiss._

"Um... the fuck?" I asked. "You have me on some sort of sick pedestal for something I did when we were six?" Tears burned in my eyes. He'd made a fucking mistake. "So I exist as some sort of sick 'happy place' in your hornball head? Shit, Edward, you really picked the wrong fucking girl." I was nearly hysterical.

"No, you don't understand, Bella. I like you."

"You don't know me," I snapped.

"I've read every post on Sylvia Plath is Dead," he argued. "I bought the anthology your poem was published in."

"I want to go home now." I jumped off the couch and got nearly halfway down the stairs before he caught up with me.

"I'll take you back to your car, Bella. I'm really sorry, okay? I won't bother you anymore."

I turned to him and shuddered, taken aback by his expression. His eyes shined like maybe he was on the verge of tears. Crying. Over some idea of me he'd conjured up in his brain out of pure need and a patchwork of blog musings cut and pasted out of context.

He'd Frankensteined me into the perfect woman. I'd have to break him of his misapprehension.

"Okay, so I think you need to fuck me now," I explained clinically, grabbing his hand and leading him back to his room.

"Um, what?"

"Take your dick out and fuck me." It occurred to me I was being rude, so I added, "Please." I yanked him through the threshold of the bedroom and deposited him on the couch with a shove before sitting beside him.

"No. It's not a good idea." Hah! The guy admitted to getting horny from oatmeal and Bill Clinton. I was pretty sure I'd be able to seduce him.

"So you're a sexual compulsive. Big fucking deal," I taunted. "Poor Edward wants to fuck all the time. I'm supposed to feel sorry for you? At least you can... come." What the fuck did I just admit aloud?

"Wait, what?" His jaw dropped. "You don't come? Like ever?"

Wait, how did this suddenly become about me? "Fuck you," I spat.

"You've never had an orgasm?" He collapsed into the arm of the couch, leaning away from me and clutching a cushion so hard I thought it might explode.

"Yeah, I've come before. Just not in the last year... well, maybe once." My face burned. The last time I came was with my own hand with his name on my lips. "Can we change the subject?" I pleaded. Shit, I was going to start crying again; I was so humiliated. What had I been thinking? How could I have admitted something like that?

"Only once... in the last year?" He swallowed thickly.

"Yeah," I whispered.

"With who?"

"Whom," I corrected. "If you're going to quiz me about my sex life, I demand you use proper grammar."

"With whom? And stop evading."

Shit. He wanted to know. I'd totally tell him.

"With..."

Or maybe I could show him. What would he do if I showed him?

I jumped off the couch and faced him. "With..." Backing up until my legs were flush with his stupid, fancy bed, I waved two fingers at him.

"You made yourself come?" His pink tongue shot out, and he licked his lower lip.

"I fucked myself with my fingers," I admitted.

"Fuck."

"Yes. With my fingers." I let myself fall back onto the bed.

"What are you doing, Bella?"

I didn't answer him right away. Instead, I undid the fly of my jeans and dipped my hand inside my panties. "Brain surgery," I said breathlessly.


	16. Ambivalence

Facebook Status: I fucked Edward Cullen, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt

This was the most humiliating experience of my life - or rather would be but only in retrospect. My current predicament afforded me the luxury of apathy. Sure, tears still coursed down my face as I writhed in front of Edward Cullen, but being emboldened by rage and despair had the curious effect of disassociating my thoughts from my actions.

I felt numb and alive, under his watchful gaze. He was captivated; his light green eyes, now a deep emerald, flashed wildly underneath his long lashes. He wanted me to stop but was desperate for me to keep going.

I felt absolutely everything and nothing at once, and I took a moment to revel at my emotional climate. This was pure ambivalence - and not in the often misunderstood definition of the word, but the true one: my mind was at war with strong and opposing impulses, feelings that were not the least bit compatible with one another. I wanted Edward to hate me and love me. I wanted to hurt and comfort him. I wanted pleasure and pain.

These emotions left me perched on the edge of a knife - the figurative kind - but I didn't seem to care at the moment if Edward tore me apart.

The freedom of not caring was glorious.

"You have nothing to prove," Edward practically hissed at me, even arching his back a little like a cat.

"Not true. You need to learn about chasing windmills." I was a real person, not a fantasy. I'd become flesh under his touch and burn the pedestal he'd trapped me on.

So what if I was about to masturbate in front of Sex-Hair? The bitch had it coming... even if I didn't - come, that is. I squeezed my eyes shut, concentrating on the sound of my hand pulling at the elastic of my panties while I gracelessly kicked my legs until my jeans shimmied down over my hips.

"Do you really think this is necessary?" he growled, his breaths coming in frenzied and quick gusts, almost like the respiration of a man in battle.

In battle with what?

_With himself and me._

Maybe he felt ambivalent too.

I kept my eyes closed and listened to him, to the metronome of his angry breathing. There was a cold comfort in the sound.

Still struggling with my jeans, I managed to tug them down to my ankles, and used my feet to pull them off. I heard them land with a thud beside the bed.

I stopped my ministrations for a moment and took a cleansing breath. "Totally necessary. Why? Do you want me to stop?" I held what was left of that breath and pushed a finger inside myself gently. My body was so tense I could barely manage to push in past the nail, but as Edward's ragged breathing took on a double-time tempo, I felt encouraged and managed to fuck myself properly with my index finger.

I opened my eyes.

Oh, god. He groaned a little like I was torturing him and palmed his crotch over his jeans. "Yes, just... don't." His fingers clutched a little at the material, and I could vaguely make out the shape of his erection.

"Why? Would you prefer to do it?"

He made a guttural sound in the back of his throat as he scraped a hand - the one that wasn't cupping his junk - up his face and into his hair, leaving a tousled mess in its wake.

"I think maybe we should call it a night." He stopped pawing at himself and looked down at me sadly.

"No." I raised my hips and slid my hands under the elastic sides of my underwear, snapping the material against my naked hip. "I refuse to be this girl... your Virgin Mary or whatever."

"I don't think of you like the Virgin Mary."

"You do. Lauren gets to be your whore while I'm relegated to the role of priss. I'm not the girl next door." I wiggled a little, closing my eyes again so no tears could betray me by sliding down my cheeks. The burning under my lids was a vague echo of the fury in my mind. He was compartmentalizing us, the women around him.

"Stop it," he ordered with finality. I heard him approach me slowly, and my fingers froze, feeling suddenly shy.

"I want you to do it," I said softly, removing my hand from my underwear. "I just... I want you." I opened my eyes and watched him look down at me. "Pretend I'm Lauren."

"I don't want you to be Lauren," he said, bending down over me. A shiver coursed through my body as he cupped the back of my head and placed an almost chaste kiss on my cheek. His lips lingered there for a moment. I turned my head slightly, our mouths seeking each other out like opposing ends of polarized magnets. His lips were so soft and sweet, meeting mine with feathery, slow pecks full of affection and so different from the tongue fucking I was accustomed to. My mind succumbed to my instincts, or rather, my need. My hands moved of their own volition into his messy hair, pulling his face even closer to mine. Dear Ezra Pound, it was bliss. I'd never known a kiss like it before. My entire body was on fire even though he was only stoking my lips.

"What do you want me to be?" I managed between kisses.

He responded by hooking his hand around my ankle and hitching my leg around his hip. "My Bella," he whispered into the hollow beneath my ear, still offering only the lightest of kisses.

This was a fairytale. Edward was the handsome prince, and I was the epitome of a damsel in distress. The thing was - if I didn't do something quick, I'd be apt to fall for this beautiful lie, and I knew myself well enough to know there was only so much I could take.

"Nut up, asshole, and fuck me properly."

"What?"

"I want your cock, like, now." His hand was on my lower back. I grabbed his wrist and redirected inside of my panties.

"Hey, slow down. There's no rush at-"

"Look, you know I want you, but if you're not willing, there are plenty of guys who are."

His eyes narrowed angrily. "Stop saying shit like that... this isn't like you."

"Oh my god, you're such a little cunt. You don't know me at all." I pushed him away from me, no longer in the mood to play mind games. "We're done here."

"You're upset... I know, Bella. Look, I've trusted you with some of my secrets. Maybe you can trust me with yours."

I didn't really know him either. That was the truth. I was drawn to him and I wanted him, but I didn't understand why.

"If you don't fuck me right now I'm heading over to Jasper Hale's house and giving him a blow job," I threatened. "There, now you know something secret about me. I'm a whore. Now fuck me like one."

His shirt hung down loosely around me, barely touching my arm as he leaned over me. I grabbed the hem and pulled him down flush against my chest.

"Call me a slut," I taunted.

"Shut the fuck up."

I gasped as his hand hooked into my panties and grazed my pubic bone. I wriggled, trying to encourage him to touch me, but instead, he found my fingers and threaded his through them, wrenching my hand over my head roughly. His dark, green eyes seemed to have hardened around the edges, his entire face appearing cold and broken. Did I do that to him? It was for the best. He needed to understand I wasn't the girl he thought I was. Fuck, I really wished I could be her... I refused to indulge in that fantasy, though, and my resolve would not waver.

"Use a condom," I muttered, no longer able to look at his eyes. I watched him procure a condom from under the mattress and rip the package open with his teeth.

"Fucking slut," Edward grumbled, rolling the latex over his shaft.

"Yeah, that's me." I wrapped my legs around his hips and waited. What would it feel like? Would it hurt, or would he be gentle? I think I wanted it to hurt. "You're a whore," I spat.

He growled and pushed into me, my eyes widening in shock at the pain that tore through me. "Ow," I whimpered, even though I didn't mean to.

Edward laughed meanly. "I'll take that as a compliment. I guess you usually fuck pencil dicks."

Somewhere above my own body I hovered watching him use my vagina to masturbate. It hurt so much. I didn't know there would be this much pain... the burning and tearing deep inside. "Stop," I pleaded. "It hurts."

"Bella?" The cruel expression on Edward's face melted away when he realized I was crying. "Was I too rough with you?"

I jumped off the bed and pulled my jeans on quickly, not even bothering to find my underwear.

"Don't be so smug," I managed to say without my voice trembling too much. "Your dick isn't that big. My vagina's just a pussy."

My shirt seemed to have disappeared so I grabbed Sex-hair's and threw it over my head quickly so I wouldn't be exposed. He'd seen enough of my battle scars for one night.

_He ripped open a new one._

Edward wasn't looking at me though. He was staring in horror at the blood stain on his bed.

"I don't understand," he stammered. "Are you having your period?"

"No. I would've told you if I was."

"But... the blood?"

"Just because I'd never had intercourse before today doesn't mean I've never been fucked." He had no clue all the ways I'd been fucked.

"Oh, christ... Bella, I'm so sorry. If you'd told me..." He staggered backwards and folded down onto the couch.

_You'd what?_

"Come here... I'm so fucking sorry." His voice cracked, and his pants were still curiously pooled around his ankles. He sat with his arms outstretched to me, but I didn't want his pity. "Why did you let me believe that you..."

"That I what?"

"That you're a slut."

I glared at him. "I am a slut... and so are you."

He threw me a hurt look and pulled his pants over his hips. "I fucked things up."

"Meh. It takes two to fuck."

"I like you, Bella," he said pathetically.

Yeah, and Dr. Cullen was worried Edward would be bad for my recovery. If only he knew what I just did to his little boy.

Someone should know, right?

In the electronic age, there is a new kind of confessional. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and updated my Facebook status.

-({})-

"I'll drive you to school tomorrow," Edward promised since I'd left my truck in the parking lot.

"Don't worry about it. My dad can drive me." I ignored the text messages on my phone and pulled up one of my favourite playlists to soothe my nerves. Tori Amos' "These Precious Things" seemed like an apt song choice. I almost giggled, plugging a bud into my ear.

"I'll drive you," he insisted. "We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Oh, shit." There was a motorcycle in my driveway and a very agitated looking Jake pacing around the bike. "Um, you should probably just let me off here, okay?"

"What? Why?"

I pointed to Jake. "He's going to beat you up for fucking me."


End file.
